


Come As You Are

by apersonwhowrites



Series: the surprisingly unsurprising life of one bonnie bennett [2]
Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:54:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 34,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26245255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apersonwhowrites/pseuds/apersonwhowrites
Summary: Bonnie Bennett has decided to take her life into her own hands.She won't let her parents make decisions about her future any longer. She only wishes that they felt the same way, but - unfortunately - they hate the ones she's made so far. It creates a rift between them: Bonnie vs. Abby and Rudy, and she's outnumbered. And while she and Damon are determined to persevere despite the odds, the stress of their circumstances aren't helping them any.Still, Bonnie has faith, but sometimes, she finds herself wondering if it's enough. And with limited options, she is unsure of what's worse: trying to rebuild bridges that were burned or refusing to trust the people that can help her.While her heart tells her not to place trust in those who hurt her, she knows that her feelings aren't the most important factor anymore.
Relationships: Bonnie Bennett/Damon Salvatore, Elena Gilbert/Stefan Salvatore
Series: the surprisingly unsurprising life of one bonnie bennett [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1906600
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23





	1. Prologue: On Your Own

**Author's Note:**

> Foreword:  
> This is just a note to let everyone know that the new prologue for Come As You Are is updated. Thanks for all the feedback and reviews for Smells Like Teen Spirit 2.0 (3.0?) I really appreciate it! I hope you guys continue to enjoy reading my improvements  
> Thanks again!  
> Oh, and no copyright infringement is intended

* * *

**~Prologue~**

* * *

_But then again there's you  
And although this town does flaunt  
All the stuff you need to feel at home  
I plan on taking from it nothing_

_~Catfish and the Bottlemen, Rango~_

* * *

I am sitting on my bed with Elena and Caroline.

It is such a normal occurrence that I almost feel like I've stepped inside a time machine. I remember being in this exact situation last year, the day before I left for the beach. They began their journey to California twenty-four hours later. The only evidence that disproves my time traveling theory is a photograph sitting atop my dresser. It's a picture of me with my parents, standing in front of our beach house. I'm wearing a yellow bikini that I wouldn't dare put on today, a cropped tank top, with a ridiculously small pair of denim shorts. My hair is French braided into two sections. I know exactly when this had been taken: the morning after my alcohol-fueled tryst with Damon.

The picture my dad insisted we pose for to commemorate our “family” vacation—right before he herded my mom and me into the van so we could get home in enough time for him to make a spur-of-the-moment meeting he

I can tell because of the look on my face: my mouth turned down into a frown, my green eyes shining with happiness. It turns out that it's much harder to be annoyed with my oblivious mother and father when I've slept with an egotistical asshole who also happens to be very good at sex.

It seems like a lifetime ago.

"It's going to be the best staycation ever!" Care claps her hands together in excitement.

Elena smiles and pulls our blonde-haired friend into a one-armed hug.

I try to return their enthusiasm, but I am failing miserably. "You guys don't _have_ to give up going to California... You aren't the ones that made a life-altering decision."

"And miss out on a chance to officially meet our niece? I don't think so."

"That goes for _both_ of us," Elena adds before I can interject. "We aren't going to be able to hang out much when we move into our dorm/your new place—we have to make the best of what time we do have together."

I look down at my hands. I hadn't expected the mention of college and moving to fill me with so much trepidation. It’s a scary thought—I’ll be totally by myself. Sure, Elena, Care, and Stefan will be right down the road, living on campus, but I won’t be.

If luck is on my side, I’ll be in what I hope will be my apartment, rooming with someone I barely know, trying to balance doing my homework, and driving just over an hour to visit my daughter in the NICU.

Though, it _would_ be nice to have some company, especially when my boyfriend can’t come with me. “Are you sure you want to visit her before she’s discharged?”

“Um, _yeah._ You _promised_ we could.”

“I’m not breaking it—I swear… it’s just an emotional experience.”

“It’s a good thing I’m well-adjusted,” Care says with a sincere grin.

Elena rolls her eyes. “It doesn’t matter—we are going because we want to see her, not because we feel we _have_ to.”

“I know, I just wanted to give you guys the choice.” Also, there’s a good chance that I’ll lose my shit and spend most of our time with her crying like a baby—pun partially intended.

And I really don’t want them to worry about me.

“We’re going—okay?” Elena says reassuringly. “Especially because the approved list of visitors will be shorter with Damon not being around.”

"When _is_ Damon leaving?" Caroline asks.

I force myself to look at them. "Late August."

Damon has chosen to enlist in the Army. It is such an admirable choice, something he’s wanted to do for a long time, but it definitely heightens my feelings of abandonment. He will be away for some time to complete basic training. So, it will be Amelia and me for the majority of her first months home. The thought of that scares me—a lot. And I feel terrible about it. It's just that she's so small…so _breakable_. What if I accidentally hurt her? What if she gets sick? What if I'm a terrible mom? I'll have no one to blame but myself.

And I’ll have no one to help me pick up the pieces.

I know Dad is overjoyed that I won’t be living here when Amelia is permitted to leave the hospital. Obviously, he wasn’t too excited when he found out I was pregnant (which I can understand), but when shit hit the fan, he didn’t act all that concerned.

My baby could have _died_ and all he could offer me was a half-hearted “I love you.”

And while Mom has been more open-minded, I know she’s relieved, too. No Bonnie means they can pretend they never had a daughter, brush me under the rug so they can act like my pregnancy never contributed to the current state of their relationship.

Which involves more and more quarrels with each passing day. Sometimes, they even happen _because_ I’ve entered the room thus reminding them that one parent must take the fall, accept the blame for letting me fuck my entire life up.

The only one that messed up more than both Mom and Dad is me and that makes me public enemy number one.

"So… how's the romance going?"

"Great," I answer. And I truly mean it. I wouldn't have gotten through the past several months without Damon. And to be honest, I don't think I'd want to. He has really shown he cares about our little family. Every time he holds our daughter, his entire face lights up like a Christmas tree. I never realized how _sweet_ Damon could be—seeing as his most prominent personality trait is arrogance. But now… I’m not so sure I could go back to seeing him in that light.

"Details!" Care leans on one of my green throw pillows, staring me down like a police officer interrogating a nervous suspect.

"They went on a date last night." Elena supplies. "Stef and I ran into them at the Grille." Her tone implies that something scandalous happened, which it didn't. I haven't been given the go-ahead to resume any of my previous restricted activities.

"We got dinner and then watched a movie at his house." Damon has only a few months before he has to start basic training and it has made him a little nostalgic. He wants to enjoy his final days in his childhood home aggravating his father. He turned the volume on the television so high that I could hear everything from the upstairs bathroom.

Giuseppe came out of his bedroom at least five times, demanding that we turn everything down or else he was going to unplug the TV.

"And?"

"And nothing." I shrug my shoulders nonchalantly. "I had a good time… he called me a buzzkill and I told him he was an asshat. Typical Bonnie and Damon date night."

"That's so… _cute_." Caroline smiles widely.

"I guess."

Elena shoves me playfully. "I _know._ Like I told you—Damon Salvatore is a changed man. Stefan says he walks on air when he comes home from seeing you."

"That was just because he got to feed Amelia a bottle before we went out yesterday. The nurse was showing me how to use a breast pump." I wave my hand dismissively, hoping to change the subject—even if I have to explain the ins-and-outs of pumping one's boobs in excruciating detail.

"Awwww!" Caroline clasps her hands together.

I roll my eyes and stare at the light green wall behind Care. He _had_ been pretty damn cute, but if I verbalize that to my friends, one of them will never let me live it down. I straighten my legs and fall back on my pillows. Caroline stands up and walks over to my dresser, examining the bottles of nail polish that sit on a small rack beside several candles. Elena lays down beside me.

"What's on your mind, Bon?"

I look around my bedroom. Not much has changed since my father re-painted it when I was eleven. My furniture is white, much like my room at our beach house. My bookshelf is better stocked here, but that’s the only major discrepancy. Based on that observation, one might assume I hated adapting to new situations.

And they wouldn’t be wrong.

“Nothing,” I say.

She eyes me skeptically. “That’s not you’re ‘nothing’ voice.”

“I don’t have a ‘nothing’ voice.”

“Do, too,” Caroline chimes in, not even bothering to look away from the bottle in her hand. “It’s not very believable.”

“Not anymore.”

I scoff at the girl closest to me. Elena never _used_ to question what I told her—why is today a different story?

“You’re more emotional now,” she explains, picking up on my confusion. “It’s easier to see through your poker face.”

“Yeah, you used to be the queen of emotional unavailability, but now… we can read you like the latest issue of _Cosmo.”_

“Care!”

This time, she turns toward me before she answers, blue eyes wide and shining triumphantly. “I’m just stating the obvious—from what I’ve heard, having a baby is like riding an emotional roller coaster.”

I can’t see Caroline researching pregnancy and childbirth. Mostly because if she is curious about anything, she’ll come right out and ask me. She doesn’t have a good filter and she rarely thinks before she speaks. Elena is much more careful with her words (unless she has a strong opinion on a matter) and doesn’t bring Amelia up unless she thinks it won’t upset me.

“It is,” I agree. “But that doesn’t mean _everything_ is different—I’m still _me._ ”

“We know.” Elena grabs my hand and squeezes it in an attempt to comfort me. “And we love you… but I want to be there for you, and it’ll be easier to do that if you _talk_ about how you feel.”

Elena is right—I know that, but therein lies the problem. I don’t know _how_ I feel, much less how to react to it all. In the span of a year, my life has been turned completely upside down. I’ve been trying to focus on the tasks I need to complete before summer is over. That way, I won’t be affected by the worries that plague me when I’m asleep.

“I’ll tell you if I need help, okay? I promise!”

Caroline joins us on my bed, with a shade of polish named _The Grapevine—_ a deep purple color that had been my grandmother’s favorite.

“Pinkie promise?” she asks, holding out her empty hand.

“Pinkie promise!” I repeat without much thought—it’s automatic, like breathing or blinking. I hook my finger around Care’s and then do the same with Elena.

“Good,” they say in unison.

Caroline shakes the bottle in front of our faces excitedly. “Now who’s ready for a manicure?”

I sit up, raising my hand in the air. “Who isn’t—a good manicure makes everything better!”

This brings a smile to Caroline’s face. “I knew one of you would see it my way eventually!”

* * *

The girl I’m meeting lives in a decent-sized apartment building ten minutes away from the Whitmore campus. The complex is home to many college students who weren’t able to get into the dormitories (or _didn’t want_ to live there).

That’s the case for my potential roommate. She didn’t offer a reason as to why over the phone, but I’m sure I’ll find out today.

I walk down the long, dimly lit hallway and up a flight of stairs, glancing at each door as I pass by.

I’m looking for apartment 2B, which should be toward the beginning of the second floor. Sure enough, I turn a corner, and there it is, engraved in gold letters and mounted on a matching plaque.

I knock on the door and wait for an answer.

Meeting new people doesn’t usually make me nervous—it actually makes me curious. I’m not a social butterfly—that title fits both Caroline and Elena better than me, but I don’t mind small-talk or getting to know someone. You can learn a lot about a person through body language and seemingly meaningless comments about the TV show they saw last night.

But when I hear footsteps getting closer and closer to me, I start to feel a bit shy. This isn’t an interest meeting or a book club, this is an interview that has the potential to make my life much harder or much easier, depending on how it goes.

And the thought of having to live with my father’s disapproval doesn’t make me feel warm and fuzzy inside. Quite the contrary—it gives me a case of the jitters. If I can’t execute the first step of my plan, how can I expect to succeed when I have to take care of Amelia—especially when Damon isn’t home?

The girl that opens the door is a few inches taller than me, with fiery red hair. She is wearing a pair of thick-framed blue glasses, hazel eyes outlined thickly with black liner, and several coats of mascara.

“I’m Luna,” she says brightly, reaching out to shake my hand. “You must be Bonnie!”

“That I am—nice to finally meet you!”

I’m not sure what to think of this girl yet. She is extremely bubbly, which reminds me very strongly of Caroline. So, that calms me down. I love Care; so, I definitely think I can get along with Luna.

 _This is off to a good start;_ I tell myself and I wonder if Grams is helping me out just a little.

“Come in,” she keeps her hand on mine and pulls me through the doorway.

The apartment looks exactly like the photos posted online—a medium-sized family room and a kitchenette that is clearly sectioned off by a short half-wall, which signals the end of the carpeting and the start of the linoleum flooring.

We head over to the couch.

A notebook is perched precariously on the corner of the gray coffee table. Luna grabs it and takes a sparkly pen from behind her ear.

I feel very prim and proper, almost stiff compared to the way she’s sitting so casually, back against the sofa, legs up and curled to the side, exposing a pair of powder-blue socks.

“So, Bonnie, why are you interested in this apartment?”

I study Luna before I reply. Her pen is hovering over a blank sheet of paper, facial expression a mixture of inquisitive and eagerness. It kind of reminds me of the stereotypical teacher’s pet played for laughs on sitcoms.

“Well, my life has been pretty hectic lately and I think moving out of my parent’s house would curb some of that. And when I saw the ad and talked with you, I thought you’d be a good roommate.”

“Oh, Bonnie—that’s sweet of you!” She nods her head, scribbling something down. “I thought so, too!”

I struggle to figure out if she’s being genuine. But I’m not sure it matters at the moment—I just need to put a roof over my head. I know I’m being a little short-sighted—according to the lump forming in my throat—but I need to be proactive.

There are only so many backhanded jabs about being a disappointment a girl can take.

From her father, no less.

And I’ve almost reached my limit.

“Why are you looking for a new roommate, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“My previous roommate—Allison—moved to Colorado after she graduated. We were best friends…” she pauses, a look of sadness crosses her features. “And the only reason I could afford my half of the rent because she paid for part of it for me—in addition to her portion. And, well, Sadie—the other girl who lives here is moving out when the semester starts. She’s moving in with her girlfriend Aaliyah and Aaliyah’s daughter, Jemma, in August.”

I nod my head and feel an involuntary pang of jealousy toward this woman I’ve never met—all because she can be with her child far more than I can with Amelia. It’s not fair or rational, but apparently, no one thinks I can act upon logic anymore.

“Well, it’s perfect timing, then!” I say with fake cheer.

She jots something else down. “It is! And you’re going to be a freshman this year?”

“Yes—I’m majoring in anthropology and my minor in English lit.”

“That’s so cool!” Luna exclaims. Her burst of enthusiasm makes me jump back a little. “I’m an anthropology student, too!”

“That is cool,” I parrot back, wishing my thoughts were on anything but when I have to go home without Amelia when I then catch a glimpse of the car seat in Damon’s trunk when he throws his visitor’s pass in with it.

He hasn’t verbalized it, but I know he does it to remind himself that she’ll get to come home with us eventually. I’ve done the same thing; I just get teary-eyed more often than he does.

“So, you were telling me you had a baby?”

I nod robotically. It sounds so weird when I hear Luna say it—with a hint of surprise. Obviously, I don’t look like someone’s mother. I don’t have to wake up eight times a night with a crying newborn and I’m not lugging around a stroller or carrier.

“Um, yeah,” I answer quietly. “She’s wasn’t able to come home with me, and I’m not sure when she will. But it won’t be before classes start—it’ll just be me at first. That’ll change, though, so if that’s an issue, I completely understand. It’s a lot.”

Luna doesn’t say anything at first; she just looks at me, clearly weighing her options. And then, sheepishly, “… not many people have expressed interest in the room. And I really need a roommate. If I can’t find somebody… I’ll have to move back in with my loser brother and his whiny girlfriend.”

“I’m sorry,” I say—and I mean it. From what little she’s divulged; it sounds like her familial relationships are as tense as my own. “I get feeling like you’re backed into a corner—it sucks.”

“I’m glad _somebody_ understands—Sadie thinks I’m being dramatic.”

Okay, so based on first impressions alone, I _might_ be able to see why her current roommate would make that determination. Luna clearly has no issues expressing herself.

“And my brother, Phil, he’s always playing video games… and Julianne—that’s the girlfriend—complains about _everything._ Which, I understand because she works two jobs and my brother basically doesn’t leave the couch when she leaves in the morning. But she takes it out on me—not him. I mean, _I’m_ not the one who used the last of the toilet paper and didn’t write it on the shopping list!”

She pauses, taking a deep breath.

“Oh, man, I’m sorry.” I am sincere about that, as well. That reminds me of my father. Or the person he’s grown into the last several months.

“Thank you, really. Are your parents like that? Like, do they complain about you?”

I hesitate. There’s no way I’m ready to talk about my personal life so openly, but the fact that Luna is facing a similar problem gives me hope that maybe this arrangement will work.

“Sort of. We don’t agree on some aspects of my life, and… well, on top of everything else, I just figured it’d be best if I give them some space.”

“It sounds like you’ve had a rough time, too.”

 _That’s an understatement._ “I plan to smooth things over.”

She writes one more note down and shuts her book. “Do you want to see the room?”

“Yes.”

Luna takes me to the back of the house and down a short hallway. There isn’t a lot of wall space, but part of it could be because a huge _Captain America_ poster is hanging there.

I think of Damon and how much he would appreciate a _Star Trek_ poster with the same dimensions and smile despite myself. It sucks that he isn’t here with me, providing his opinion even though nobody would ask him for one, but he has errands to run before we go to the hospital this afternoon.

_God, I’m going to miss his self-inflated ego._

“And this is the bathroom…” Luna is saying.

She holds the door open so I can get a better look at it. It’s small, just big enough to fit a sink, toilet, and a walk-in shower. A few towels hang on a rack mounted next to the sink. And on the counter, I see a little dish with a bar of soap that is almost gone, a roll of dental floss, and at least three different bottles of perfume.

I am used to having my own bathroom. Sure, I hated my mother’s design but at least she and Dad rarely go in there. Sharing one with Luna and Amelia would definitely be a challenge.

But one I could deal with.

Actually, it sounds like a walk in the park compared to some of my other problems.

The bedroom that I would have is half the size of the living room but still much bigger than the bathroom. It’s large enough for my bed, dresser, side table, and crib. It doesn’t leave a bunch of walking space, but other than that, I love it.

I don’t need anything extravagant, really. I’m looking for cleanliness, up-to-code, and affordability. This place checks all the boxes so far.

It even has a washer/dryer hookup.

When I turn back to Luna, she’s watching me hopefully, hands clasped under her chin. “Do you like it?”

“I do. How much would I need to pay each month?”

“The rent is eight hundred—nine hundred if you include utilities.”

I mull this over. Five hundred dollars if I add in the cost of groceries. And there’s my car insurance to consider, but I don’t have a car payment.

 _Thanks to Cousin Emily,_ I think, recalling all the ice cream I had to scoop to buy her car. She and I don’t see each other outside of holidays, but I get along with her better than I do with my cousin Sasha, who always makes everything into a competition.

One that she constantly lost until I got knocked up at seventeen.

But that’s probably because Emily is ten years older than Sasha and me. So, Sasha never viewed her as a rival. I, on the other hand, am the perfect opponent. She loves school and has opted to attend Cornell in the fall.

I wonder if that has anything to do with Mom and my Uncle Marshall being close in age (Aunt Calla a.k.a. Emily’s mom was in high school when they were born).

Calla and Emily are also more like Grams whereas Marshall, Sasha, and Abby are more like my grandfather—ambitious and competitive.

I had been so happy that Emily sold the car to me cheaply, but that feeling doubles when I realize that the money I had left (and haven’t touched since then) after my purchase is enough to cover the first three months of rent. “I can do that!”

Luna beams at me. “Awesome!” she grabs my hand with both of hers. “Thank you so much! I’m so glad this is working out!”

“Me, too.”

But a part of me wonders if she’ll be so overjoyed when Amelia’s around. I know I’m trepidatious about it, but I have months to go before I have to actively worry about that.

Right now, all I can think is, _thank God for small victories._


	2. She Gathers Rain

* * *

**~Chapter One~**

* * *

_She gathers rain  
To rinse away all her guilt and pain  
She gathers rain_

_~Collective Soul, She Gathers Rain~_

* * *

“So… how was it?”

“How was what?” I ask, ripping my gaze away from the ever-changing scenery on the other side of the window.

“The whatever-you-called-it with that girl yesterday. About the apartment. Was she a crazy ax-murder type—because if she was, I owe you an ‘I told you so.’”

“Damon—really? You are more concerned about being right than my safety?”

He ponders this, looking over his shoulder before he turns into the hospital parking lot. “Well, yeah. Those moments are priceless.”

“You want to try that again?” I cross my arms over my chest, making it clear that my question is more of a demand and not a suggestion.

“I’m glad you didn’t get cut up into tiny pieces and put into some crazy chick’s freezer.”

“Man, you really know how to make a girl feel special.”

Damon pulls into a space by the entrance to the maternity ward, puts the car in park, and looks at me. He flutters his lashes, pouting ever so slightly, eyes wide with innocence.

“So, you’ve told me,” The air of naivety drops in an instant, leaving a mischievous smile in its place.

“Not lately,” I retort, agitated.

“Are you frustrated about something, Bennett?”

“No… yes… I don’t know!” I throw my hands up in exasperation. “Why does everyone keep asking me stuff like that?”

There is no trace of amusement in Damon’s voice when he answers. “Because I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I whisper, leaning back against the headrest.

“Also, Malibu Barbie is worried about and so is Elena. Oh, and Stefan—and I feel obligated to calm him down. He’s way too young to have so many forehead wrinkles. But it’s mostly because I love you—that’s why I said it first.”

“Then why did you talk about everyone else?”

He shrugs. “Just in case you needed more motivation.”

“To what?”

“Tell me what’s upsetting you,” he states, and then he waits for me to respond.

I can’t; not right away. I close my eyes and _think._ What is the easiest way to explain my perspective?

I don’t actually have an answer when I begin talking. I figure if I can express myself properly to anyone it will be Damon. “I’m tired, but I shouldn’t be…”

“I disagree.”

 _Of course, you do,_ I think, but I don’t believe he can convince me otherwise. He’s still going to try, though. “Why?”

“Well,” he starts, and I can tell he's about to launch into a detailed monologue that only he could deliver with such confidence. “You _did_ have major surgery recently—”

“Not really.”

“Says the girl who canceled her follow-up appointment last week.”

“I was busy,” I say defensively.

“… because she didn’t want to be told she’s overdoing it.”

“So?”

 _“So,”_ Damon says, voice clipped. “I’m going to have to remind you that we had to go to the doctor anyway because you hurt yourself trying to… what was it again…?”

“I was helping Elena move her bed so she could get something out from under it,” I mutter, bowing my head, unwilling to meet his gaze.

“Yeah, _that_ was a questionable life choice.”

“I went back to the doctor after that.”

“And you still need to go again.”

I sigh, burying my face in my hands, and when I begrudgingly admit that Damon has a valid point, my voice is muffled.

“… it’s okay, Bon Bon. Just let it out—whatever is bothering you, _please_ tell me. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

“It’s so many different things, Damon… I don’t know where to start.”

He takes his seatbelt off, and when he goes to remove mine, I shift my torso; so, he doesn’t need to worry about smacking me in the face with the buckle. And then he wraps an arm around me, bringing me into the world’s most awkward embrace. “Start anywhere—I’m listening.”

I relax, dropping my hands into my lap. “Okay… I know I told you I didn’t really think about what I was doing when I helped Elena out, but I did.”

 _“No!”_ Damon gasps in mock surprise. “I never would’ve guessed.”

I throw him a withering look. “I just… I’m so used to just _helping_ everyone that I’m angry that they think I can’t anymore. I’m looked at so differently now…”

“You had a human being cut out of your body. That experience isn’t necessarily a walk on easy street.”

“But… people bounce back!”

“Yeah, usually by following the advice of a medical professional.”

“Well, what about you?” I had wanted to sound snippy, but my words come out sounding weak and squeaky like I’m trying to hold back tears. “This is hard on you, too.”

“Yes, but, my hormones haven’t been on speed the past few months,” he reasons gently, kissing me atop the head. “Of _course,_ I was scared. Terrified, actually. I still am sometimes, but I just remind myself that Amelia’s alive, and it keeps me going.”

“I fucked up,” I insist pitifully.

“No, you didn’t.”

“I couldn’t keep her safe! I – I… I don’t understand _why!”_ I try to steady my breathing to no avail. I hiccup and sputter as my eyes begin to well.

Damon places his palm on my cheek, wiping my teardrops away with his thumb. “It’s not anyone’s _fault,_ Bonnie. Sometimes, the universe just says, ‘ _fuck you_ ’ because it can.”

“What if I can’t do it? What if I’m not a good enough mom?”

“That’s not possible,” he assures me and I’m beginning to wonder if his God complex has gotten worse. How can he sound so certain about something unpredictable?

“How do you know?” I inquire skeptically.

“Because I’m always right—and because you’re _you.”_

Yeah, but this me is currently a blubbering basket case, losing her mind over something that can’t truly be measured in a scientific capacity.

“… you make me wish I was half as amazing as you,” he goes on. “You are so strong, Bennett, you put superheroes to shame.”

“You sound serious.”

“Because I am,” he murmurs, hugging me even tighter.

“… I don’t know what I’d do without you,” I tell him. “I couldn’t do this without you.”

“Well, you’re in luck, because I’m not going anywhere.”

I make a move to correct him but stop short. He doesn’t mean it in a literal sense. I wish he implied multiple contexts to it, but I know the metaphorical meaning holds far greater value.

And I think that’s the first time I believed anyone who told me that since Grams died.

_~~X~~_

I wake up in a cold sweat, my breathing heavy and shallow.

My heart is pounding against my ribcage, palms clammy, my body a contradictory mixture of hot and downright freezing. My hands are gripping my comforter so tightly that I’m mildly surprised that I haven’t ripped a hole in it.

A cursory glance around lets me know that whatever I just experienced was nothing more than a nightmare. I’m in my bedroom, and it’s the middle of the night, moonlight streaming through my sheer curtains, casting an ethereal shadow across the floor. My phone and an untouched water bottle sitting on my nightstand—the digital clock face reads twelve in the morning.

 _It was just a bad dream,_ I tell myself, repeating the phrase over and over again in my head. As I’m reciting reassurances, I take huge gulps of water, desperately trying to overcome the dryness in my mouth.

I’ve finally gotten myself together, the water bottle now empty and crushed in my hand. _Just a bad dream…_ the horrible thing, though, is that it felt so real—so lifelike that I hadn’t known I was asleep as the fiasco unfolded before my eyes.

Really, I shouldn’t have been so easily fooled—it’s the same dream I’ve been having on and off over the past couple of. Each time it happens, nothing changes. I’m always overwhelmed with a barrage of happiness, only to have terror cloud over it like a thick, gray fog. Until it’s completely tainted everything, ruined it beyond repair.

Perhaps the most unsettling part of the matter would be how it destroys any possible hope I had of going back to sleep. Once it happens once, it’ll happen again. I’ll have the same dream five times a night, depending on when I go to bed.

Thankfully, it’s not a daily occurrence, so, it’s not inhibiting my ability to sleep completely. I have mostly good nights and still wake up tired—as if I’ve never rested before. But every so often, my fears rear their ugly head, awakening to torture me.

It’s too bad tonight has been a bust… I had wanted to be somewhat chipper for Mehri’s visit later today.

Ever since I met her, Mehri has always been so nice. She makes way more of an effort to come to see her cousins than my Dad did when it came to attending my dance recitals.

Although, believe it or not, she hadn’t overheard my conversation with Elena when we all went to dinner. She didn’t even know I was pregnant until Giuseppe had let it slip when she carpooled with him to the school.

She showed me the same pride in me as she had Damon and Stefan, hugged me, and didn’t demand any further information from us when her uncle walked away. And for that, I am grateful, because if I have to listen to another person fret over whether or not everything is okay, I will lose it.

_Tomorrow will be a normal day… just relax…_

But I can’t—I spend the next hour tossing and turning, before finally turning on the light and walking over to my bookshelf. I select a book that’s slightly battered, spine creased, with the corners of the cover bent and curling upward.

It’s not a soothing bedtime story, but it’s weird and angsty and I’m hoping that the hurdles the main character faces will keep my mind off my nightmares.

Or, maybe, I’ll just be lucky enough to cook up a horrible dream that has nothing to do with the one I’ve been having.

Either way, it’s worth a shot.

_~~X~~_

I’m lounging on the couch in the Salvatore’s living room when Caroline comes in, bright-eyed and energetic. She looks absolutely ecstatic. This get-together is the first in a series of stay-cation activities on Caroline’s calendar.

I find myself slightly more appreciative of her insistence on keeping everyone busy, taking the lead, and planning what we would do, taking everyone’s preferences into account. Partly because I want to cherish the time we have together before everything changes even more, and partly because I’m not so sure I should be spending so much time inside my own head.

“Is Mehri here yet?” Caroline asks, sitting in-between me and Elena.

“No,” Stefan calls from the kitchen.

Damon flops onto a nearby armchair, propping his boot-clad feet on the ottoman—because his dad _hates_ when he does it. “I mean, I love her and all, but why are you rolling out the red carpet like she’s a celebrity?”

 _“Because,”_ she says curtly. “This is our last summer before college—we have to enjoy it.”

“Yeah, Damon,” Elena interjects. “Stop being so grumpy.”

“I’m not grumpy, I’m _tired._ Some of us have responsibilities—unlike you and _Teen Talk_ Barbie.”

Caroline’s mouth drops open, brows furrowed, eyes throwing daggers in his direction.

I toss a pillow at his head, and when he almost misses catching it, I realize he isn’t kidding—he’s tired. He doesn’t look it, though. But then, Damon is good at concealing things he doesn’t want you to know.

That doesn’t give him the right to be a dick to Caroline, though. “Damon—stop being an ass.”

He sighs, expression softening. “Sorry, Caroline. I didn’t mean it like that, I just couldn’t sleep last night. I guess I am grumpy.”

“It’s… fine,” she says, but I can tell she doesn’t really know what to think. Not the response, he gave, I’m sure.

The corners of my mouth quirk up in my first smile of the day, a silent gesture meant only for Damon to see. And when Caroline and Elena wander in to help Stefan bring the snack foods out, leaving me and Damon alone.

“You okay?” I ask, moving to sit on the arm of his chair.

“Yeah, I had a weird night, that’s all. I just felt… off.”

I kiss him on the cheek. “Off how?”

“I don’t know how to explain it,” he admits. “It was like the night before you went to see that place. I actually had a nightmare that girl went Lizzie Borden on you.”

“Wait… you were really worried about me?”

“Don’t get carried away, Bennett. I was scared the blood would stain my jacket.”

“Is that all?”

“What do you mean?” he asks, confused.

“You’re not having a Bonnie-Esque breakdown?”

He lets out a small laugh. “God, I hope not. Amelia wouldn’t stand a chance at being normal then.”

“Well, with you for a dad, her odds aren’t that good as it is.”

He looks at me indignantly. “You’re the weirdo, Bon Bon—I’m the cool parent.”

“I don’t think I’d use that terminology.” I shake my head. “It doesn’t feel, _right,_ you know?”

“Uh, no. I thought it was already decided. I won that game of Uno, so I am the cooler one.”

“I think _you’re_ the superhero, Damon.”

“No way,” he scoffs, poking me in the ribs. “I’m the sexy villain with the badass redemption arc.”

“If that makes you happy… then, yeah—that’s what I meant to say.”

I lean in for another kiss, only to be interrupted by a chorus of gagging noises.

“Get a room,” Caroline says, groaning theatrically. “Or, better yet, _don’t._ I don’t want to encourage you, Damon. Haven’t you already ruined Bonnie’s innocence?”

“I _love_ how everyone thinks _I_ was the instigator.” Damon laments. He makes it sound like a joke... like there’s _no way_ I thought of it first.

He actually thinks it’s hilarious, as it spawned many inside jokes, and I have to admit, some of the punchlines are funnier than they should be.

“Damon, your _middle name_ is instigator.”

We all turn at the sound of Mehri’s voice.

She’s standing in the foyer, a playful grin on her face. She looks like she’s enjoying the summery weather—her skin is sun-kissed like she’s enjoyed multiple days lounging by a pool. Thick, dark hair flowing down her back, sunglasses perched atop her head. She slips them off and stashes them in her tote bag, kicks her sandals off, and rushes over to give Stefan and Damon hugs.

Then she faces me, throwing her arms around me. “Bonnie! I’m so glad you guys came over!”

When she lets me go, I notice that she’s replaced the stud in her nose with a more noticeable gold hoop to compliment her orange sundress.

I wish I could feel half as good as Mehri looks.

But wishing for something doesn’t make it a reality—sadly. If that were true, Amelia would be in my arms instead of where she is, hooked up to monitors and tubes, a constant beeping sound that is tracking her vitals.

A noise that haunts me when I close my eyes at night, hoping for a decent night’s sleep.

Mehri is greeting Elena and Caroline when she asks how we are doing.

“Good,” says Care.

“Great,” says Elena.

“What they said,” says Stefan, taking a potato chip out of the bowl in his hands.

Mehri gazes at Damon and I expectantly, a hopeful glint in her brown eyes. “So, I see that you’re continuing to prove that I was right about you two all along.”

“Maybe—so, you had _one_ good observation. I’m not going to give you a trophy because you correctly deduced that I’m attracted to Bonnie.”

“It was the UST, right?” Care nods toward us. “The sexual tension between those two made me feel like I was watching a teen soap opera.”

“Oh, totally.” Mehri agrees enthusiastically. “Except, it was apparently dealt with when I saw Damon looking at Bonnie like she was his whole world.”

“I don’t do that,” Damon mutters, and it’s obvious that he doesn’t like people trying to mess with his reputation because I notice several telltale signs he’s fibbing.

The muscles in his arm twitch and he averts his eyes for a half-second, using the moment to compose himself.

“Damon’s actually being nicer than usual,” Caroline remarks. “I blame it on Amelia. She’s the one that’s got him wrapped around her little finger.”

“Oh, the baby! How is she? And how long were you going to keep her s secret?.”

“Fine, small, and for much longer than she actually was.” Damon rattles of each answer with ease.

“Will she come home before you leave?”

Damon frowns. He _hates_ thinking about it. “I don’t know, she’s fine, but she’s not gaining weight as she should.”

Mehri’s happy expression falters. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. Why don’t we change the subject?”

“Oh,” Care says, face lighting up. “Where’d you get that dress—it’s so cute!”

“This little shop in Alexandria. It always has really good sales—it’s called _Flair.”_

“Ugh, I’ve been dying to go on a shopping spree! These two are boring shopping partners!” Caroline jerks her thumb at Elena and me, rolling her eyes to drive her point home.

“Not true—we helped you pick out your graduation dress. You even said you couldn’t have decided on it without us!”

Elena _is_ right, but Caroline just pouts, and I immediately figure out what’s coming next…

As if on cue, Care flips her blonde hair over her shoulder and stares us down. “Would you guys drive to Alexandria with me?”

“We could all go,” Mehri suggests. “We can take my car—if we leave now, we should be able to get there by one-thirty.”

 _“Please?”_ Care asks pleadingly.

I want to go, but I’m not thrilled at the prospect of parting with Damon. My grip on his hand tightens, and I’m beginning to worry about how much I miss him when he’s not around. It’s almost ridiculous—I spent so much of my life with Grams, and when she died, I was on my own, drowning in loneliness and grief. It’s been so wonderful having Damon by my side, and I want to make every moment leading up to his departure special.

Reading my facial expression, Care looks down at her phone, frowning, and types something out. “… they have a men’s section…”

Damon groans, Stefan’s forehead gains yet another line, and Elena peers at them thoughtfully.

“I’ll get my wallet…” Stefan says. He sounds like he knows this isn’t a battle he wants to wage. I can’t fault him for that—if arguing with Elena and Care when they are drunk exhausts him, attempting to talk the blonde out of an excursion like this is twice as tiring.

“Damon—if you come, I won’t shove a stink bug in your face.”

He glowers at his cousin. “Wow, you make it sound so tempting.”

“You and Bonnie deserve to have a little fun,” Mehri insists. “And I won’t get to see you until winter break after this week.”

“What do I get out of this?”

“My approval…” she replies, though it sounds more like a question than a statement.

“Fine—I’ll go, but I’m _not_ going to like it.”

“Fair enough.”

While everyone gathers their belongings, Damon and I remain stationary. I lean into his side, bumping him with my shoulder. “Thank you—I would’ve been embarrassed about how much I missed you if you weren’t with me.”

“You’re welcome, but you owe me for this.” Damon pokes me in the side.

“Technically, I never asked you to tag along.”

“Well, when Amelia asks you why you can’t be as awesome as me, I want you to tell her about this.”

I contemplate his terms, and I decide I’m okay with that, but I’m not going to allow him to completely upstage me when it comes to acts of kindness—the mere thought of that is sacrilegious.

“Okay, but then _you_ need to tell her about how I returned the favor by making your pancakes for dinner afterward.”

“Bon Bon, if I let you do that, I wouldn’t live to tell the tale. Your pancakes are giant, hockey pucks of death.”

“Fine—then you’ll come to stay with me tonight. My parents have some kind of appointment in Richmond this evening—they won’t be back until tomorrow afternoon.”

“I can do that— _if_ you keep your snoring to in check.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“… though, I would rather listen to you snore than eat your cooking.”

I glare at him. “Very funny.”

“And _that_ is another reason I’ll be the cool parent.”

“Whatever you say, Salvatore.”

“I’ll remember you said that—it’ll come in handy later on.”

“We will see about that.”

“Oh, we will.”

My heart skips a beat—the idea of our bantering extending far into the future brings me a joy that makes me think the hurdles we are about to run into will make it all worth it in the end.


	3. A Pragmatic Attempt at Optimism

* * *

**~Chapter Two~**

* * *

_A cloud hangs over,  
And mutes my happiness,  
A thousand ships couldn't sail me back from distress,  
Wish you were here_

_~Incubus, Anna-Molly~_

* * *

I haven’t been in a car with this many people since the last time Elena went to the beach with me. And the nostalgia I feel is astounding, somewhat disorienting, and bittersweet.

Those were simpler times and I had simpler problems.

That was nice—I definitely felt more confident about how I handled myself—and I try to cling to that feeling as Elena nudges my shoulder, urging me to join the conversation.

“What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done, Bonnie?” Mehri asks casually.

Back then, I probably would have mentioned the time I ditched studying for a mid-term to accompany Caroline to a tattoo shop to hold her hand while she had her belly button pierced. But now… well, my response is totally different—and I think it should be obvious… which, is actually kind of embarrassing.

“I can’t believe I’m actually saying this but, Bon Bon isn’t crazy—at least, not in the reckless kind of way. It sucks—she never does anything too risky—her life failure count is zero.”

I’m actually a bit surprised at how quickly Damon jumped in for me, and I know if Mehri asked my father the same question, he would launch into a diatribe about how he feels the exact opposite is true.

“She really doesn’t,” Care says. “She spends most of her time telling us we’re nuts.”

“And then she lists all the ways our plans could go wrong,” Elena adds.

“So… what you’re actually saying is that she constantly mothers you,” Damon presses a few buttons on his cell, and I know he just wants someone to say something worth recording to add to his collection of funny Bonnie videos—sure, he _claims_ that he’s doing it for the days when he can’t call me, but this is Damon so, clearly he has more than one motive.

And my best friends fall right into his trap.

“Um, yeah…” Caroline wrinkles her nose in confusion.

Elena looks at Damon thoughtfully. “But it’s a _good_ thing.”

“Ugh, you ruin everything, Elena!”

“Sorry… but I would’ve had neon-yellow hair for ninth grade pictures if Bon didn’t talk me out of it.”

“Technically, she didn’t,” Stefan reminds her. “I thought you did the bottom half of your hair, realized you overdid it with the bleach and called Bonnie for help.”

“I like to skip over that part.”

“Oh, then there was the time she told me not to pierce my belly button, held my hand when I got it done anyway and helped me take it out when it got infected.”

I smile at that one, if only because I had thought of the same story minutes ago.

“Amelia’s lucky she has Bonnie,” she continues. “If _Damon_ had to do all the work, can you imagine what would happen?”

“Well, she wouldn’t play with bugs,” Mehri says with a laugh.

“He’d be fine—great actually,” I tell everyone.

It’s me that will have the issues. When Damon holds her, it looks so freaking _natural_ —he doesn’t get rattled when she cries or when something happens with one of the many machines monitoring her vitals does something weird.

I’m the frazzled one—I still can’t hold her without feeling like I’ll hurt her. The first time she left her incubator, I chalked it up to not having gotten over everything that happened, but it hasn’t stopped or gotten the slightest bit better with time.

“Wow, Damon,” says Mehri, glancing at Damon in the rearview mirror. “I’m impressed.”

“You’re impressed that I got Bonnie pregnant before we graduated high school—that’s the first time I’ve heard that one.”

“I’m impressed that you’re actually taking this seriously. You’re growing up. Right, Stef?”

“I agree,” he states, patting Damon on the head. “It’s so endearing, he’s actually turning into a fine young man.”

I snort—now _that_ is funny. If only because Stefan’s been waiting for an opportunity to patronize Damon like that for _years_ and the time finally presented itself.

“Mehri—it’s much more satisfying to tell embarrassing stories about Saint Steffy. Like that time, he peed himself when you introduced him to your friend Lindsay—he was ten, by the way.”

Stefan’s expression darkens as Damon tells us the tale; intertwining moments that sound much better exaggerated than they do factual. There are dramatic pauses, where Damon listens to the laughter, a smug grin on his face, and eventually, even Stefan joins in on the fun, correcting the falsehoods Damon swears are truths.

For my part, I tilt my head back slightly and relax. At some point (I’m not sure how long I’ve been zoned out), my eyelids become heavy and I feel myself drift off, amidst contemplating if I’m overthinking everything… maybe I’m just being a worrywart… everyone is offering up a childhood memory now, and all the mentions of past mistakes give me a glimmer of hope that things will be alright—just like Grams used to tell me.

_~~X~~_

When I wake up again, Damon is standing outside Mehri’s silver SUV, putting quarters in a parking meter. Elena is going through her purse, Stefan is unbuckling his seatbelt, and Caroline is poking me over and over again.

I yawn and turn my head. A stab of pain runs up my neck, making it hard to fully face Care, who has yet to stop nudging me, even though I’m clearly awake now.

“I’m here… I’m awake…” I insist, fumbling around for the button that will free me from my restraints. After a minute, Caroline takes mercy on me and pushes it herself.

“Are you alright?” she asks, and I know she’s not being serious—the note of amusement in her voice is apparent.

“Fine,” I say, stretching my legs out.

“You were talking in your sleep again,” Elena informs me, zipping her bag closed. “Damon got a video out of it. Care tried to stop him, but then Mehri had to pull over because… well, Damon was being an ass.”

“Like usual,” Caroline adds.

“We were surprised you didn’t wake up with all the commotion—but Damon says you’ve been sleeping like a rock.”

“Oh my God, what was I saying?”

“Um, it was nothing awful,” Elena says, but I don’t believe her because she won’t make eye contact with me.

“So… can I have the real story now?”

Caroline laughs, but it doesn’t sound uneasy. She thinks I’m being _funny._ “Not now—it’s something that’ll be better kept a secret.”

I lurch forward, inspecting my face in the rearview mirror. “Did he draw a penis on my face or something?”

“No—we swear,” Elena assures me, straight-faced.

“On Ryan Gosling,” Care says solemnly because what’s more binding than the guy that played Noah in _The Notebook?_

I sit back down. “… is it humiliating?”

“No, not at all. The exact opposite.”

I eye Elena skeptically. “Really?”

“I promise,” she insists. “One day you’ll look back on it and it’ll be a cute story you guys will tell Amelia.”

“It better be,” I warn them both. “Or I’ll let _Damon_ tell her all about how her aunts embarrassed themselves.”

“See?” Caroline says with a renewed sense of positivity. “That’s the spirit!”

_~~X~~_

When I step outside, I have to use my eyes to shield my eyes from the sun. We are standing in the middle of a picturesque town square, sidewalks paved in bricks and quaint, touristy, shops—a used book store, jewelry shop, a café, a haberdashery, and _Flair._ The entryways are lined with vibrant flowers, doors adorned with hand-painted signs and little bells that signal shopkeepers to the presence of new customers. People mill around, stopping to sit on benches strategically placed underneath shady willow trees.

Couples laugh and smile as they walk by, hands swinging back and forth. Families emerge from the ice cream parlor with cones topped with rainbow sprinkles and cherries, new mothers and fathers push their babies in cutesy carriages.

This place is a lot like home—but at least there, when I see parents enjoying time with their children, I can run back into the house and lock myself in my bedroom. Now, I have to watch—and regulate my emotions—as the scene plays out in front of me at least three separate times before everyone else has decided that they’ve wasted enough change to give us two hours of parking privileges.

“Bon?”

I hear Caroline’s voice, but I’m too busy dealing with the onslaught of pain to respond.

“Bonnie?” That’s Elena, but she sounds like she’s talking through a funnel.

A gentle hand is placed on my shoulder. “Bonnie—are you okay?” Mehri.

I take a deep breath, suppressing the frustration that comes with that particular question. I _hate_ that word, but no one else deserves my anger—they mean well and are only trying to help.

But nothing will change and there aren’t enough words in any language to fix what is broken.

“Sorry—I’m still waking up.” I force a smile, then yawn, to prove my point.

A bell rings from behind us, and I see Damon and Stefan walking toward us. I had been so fixated on what was going on in front of me that I hadn’t noticed when Damon slipped away.

“Mehri, why is it that you dragged us to the only town in the whole state that doesn’t have a fucking ATM?”

I watch as Damon shoves a few bills into his wallet.

“Stop whining, Damon—it has a nice ambiance. Don’t knock it.”

Damon looks at me, turns his head, and stares at the couple with their baby that passed me moments ago, their retreating figures getting smaller and smaller until they round the corner. “The ambiance _sucks.”_

Mehri seems puzzled, probably trying to figure out how the cheerful vibe soured so quickly. Elena follows our gazes, but she just missed the little family and therefore has very little information to go on. Care and Stefan—who are the most empathetic of us all—catch on quickly, and usher us toward a cluster of stores displaying antiques, clothes, and what looks like costume jewelry.

 _I probably should’ve declined the offer,_ I think miserably, _I’m ruining everyone else’s fun._

So, I vow to act less as I feel and more like a normal eighteen-year-old girl who’s supposed to be enjoying her last summer break before she starts college, striking out on her own, without the help of her parents.

That’s all my friends want—for me to be happy, _better,_ and that’s certainly not a bad thing. It’s actually a far cry from before when Damon and I were completely on our own (because, while it felt like I was by myself when he wasn’t there, he never ran away).

Not like Abby, Rudy, and Elena did.

So, I should just take the good moments—that’s how Damon is attempting to deal with it, what he said over and over again when I felt like I was drowning in my own uncertainty. I arm myself with the several truly blissful memories in all the pain.

It’s not fair for me to add fuel to Damon’s sadness either.

In fact, it’s one of the _last_ things I want to do.

When we enter the store, I see that it is mainly geared for women. The men’s section is small and located in the front, probably because no one really expects it to bring in much revenue.

And Damon won’t prove my theory wrong—he is glaring at Mehri, who he is saying really oversold the whole “fun for him, too,” aspect of her pitch.

I find myself feeling worse for Stefan, who is holding Elena’s hand, rubbing the back of his neck, and glancing around awkwardly.

Elena, who is listening to Damon’s rant, let’s go of her boyfriend, and says, a sympathetic smile on her face, “why don’t you guys find somewhere else to go? Let us have a girl’s day?”

Care’s mouth drops open and I can’t stifle my shock. Elena is usually very much of the mind that the Salvatore brothers make every trip or outing worthwhile—even when Caroline wants to go into _Victoria’s Secret_ to take advantage of a sale.

And let me tell you, out of the few occasions it happened, each time was pretty painful.

It’s pretty much a scientific fact that’s withstood each trial, yielding the same results.

It goes like this:

Caroline spots the sale’s sign, but Elena’s already sent Stef a text inviting them both to meet up with us, and somehow Stefan ends up waiting outside because Caroline and Damon made one too many jokes at the expense of his sex life, and Damon gets the phone number of the best-looking sale’s associate.

Suffice to say, this idea is a welcome change.

Damon kisses me on the cheek, before whispering in my ear, “survival of the fittest, Bon Bon. Don’t take it personally.”

“I’m not—trust me,” I assure him rolling my eyes.

“And that’s another reason I love you,” his voice is dripping with sarcasm.

“It’s okay—you can make it up to me later.”

“That sounds… ominous.”

“Good, you’re supposed to take it that way,” I make an honest attempt to sound foreboding, but I can’t help the grin I crack at the last second.

And I know, if I begin to feel uncomfortable, I can just go back to thinking of the best ways to torture my boyfriend.

There’s only one problem that can’t fix, after all.

~~X~~

My main goal is to get through this trip without another near breakdown.

And I’m faring pretty well.

“So, you’re not going to make this Luna-chick your new bestie, are you?”

I study Caroline’s expression, trying to gauge her level of seriousness. She’s smiling, but part of her is genuinely curious. I had given them a brief description of Luna after the apartment tour, and when she called to ask if I still wanted to live there, she had heard my excited confirmation.

At the time, I was only thinking of crossing one item off my checklist, but I didn’t think Caroline had taken it another way. When I answer, I think about how sharing space will be a huge adjustment for me, how I’m going to have to deal with a multitude of new experiences one after the other.

“No, and you know if I could, I’d live on campus with you guys.”

“Just double-checking,” Care says, tightening the laces on the boot she’s trying on.

“Luna’s the future-roommate?” Mehri inquires, browsing through a rack of tops.

I nod. “Yup. She seems nice enough. You guys will like her—I promise.”

“Can we sleep over whenever we want?”

“As long as she’s alright with it, but I’m not sure you guys will want to after a while.”

“We do, though.” Elena says, “we want to spoil Amelia.”

“It’s… I don’t… it’s not just the normal stuff… I don’t…” I falter, looking down at my feet. I guess now is a good time for a dose of realism. “She might need extra care, like medical equipment, things like that. It’s a lot,” _and I’m fucking terrified._

“We’ve got your back, Bon,” Elena states firmly. “You can do this—we all believe in you.”

It’s a heartwarming sentiment, and I cling to it in hopes that it’s true.

“My friend, Debbie, is studying to be a neonatal nurse,” Mehri says casually. “I can give you her contact information.

I’m not in the position to be turning down helpful resources. “That’d be great! Thanks, Mehri.”

“Of course,” she beams at me. “I’d do anything for the family—and I’m not just saying that because of Damon or the baby. I think you bring out the best in Damon, and you have this way about you, I had a good feeling about you. And I was serious about Damon turning into a teddy bear—I’ve never seen him so… happy… which, given what you guys have gone through, says a lot.”

“Wow, you almost convinced me Damon was an actual person with that analysis.” Caroline claps her hands together in astonishment.

“I know,” Mehri says. “Scary, isn’t it?”

 _Not even a little bit,_ I think.


	4. Faith

* * *

**~Chapter Three~**

* * *

_There is a ghost  
Deep in my throat  
Shoving it down  
Speak and you choke  
…  
Every fire  
Sharpens the flood  
Throbbing and wild  
Stained in blood_

_~Stephanie Schneiderman, Dirty and Clean~_

* * *

When we get home, I’m relieved, tired, and just downright _drained_ in every possible way.

One glance at the stairs and I know I don’t have enough energy to make it to the top. As it is, I barely make it to the couch before my legs give out. Damon drops down beside me, looking equally exhausted yet contemplative like he’s running on vapors trying to process some deep conceptual problem that has no true solution.

I lean on his shoulder, sighing. “Thanks for staying over—hopefully, I’ll be able to sleep tonight.”

“I’m ninety-nine percent sure the chainsaw sound effects that you try to pass off as sinus issues are the cause of all your sleeping issues.”

“If my snoring is that awful, why did you agree to spend the night?”

“Simple—if I don’t get any sleep tonight, I can blame _you_ for it. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I missed such a golden opportunity?”

I pretend to give his question serious thought. “Prince Charming… but then you wouldn’t be _my_ boyfriend and I’d start to get suspicious you got abducted by aliens.”

“Am I supposed to be insulted by that? Because all I heard was _blah, blah, blah.”_ Damon replies mockingly.

I shrug half-heartedly. “I can’t think of anything else… ask me again in the morning.”

“Fine by me,” he stretches lazily, kicking off his boots and swinging his feet up. “I’m going to sleep before I dream I’m the next victim in _Texas Chainsaw Massacre.”_

“I hope he gets you in the opening credits—the pretty boys make it to the end of slasher movies way too often.”

“I’ll let you know how I do later—I think I’ll be okay, though. Once I realize the chainsaw is really just a prop and you are the killer, I feel much better. I mean, really… no one would give _you_ a chainsaw.”

_~~X~~_

Gray light filters into the living room in the morning.

I prop myself up and look around. I expected my parents to be home before daybreak, but nothing seems to be disturbed. Everything looks exactly as it had before I passed out last night, and I had stayed awake longer than Damon had (it was only ten minutes, but _still…)._

I realize how stiff my body is when I try to sit up on the other side of the couch. My arms and legs ache and I once again find myself without the full range of my neck.

I regret not going to my bedroom—Damon isn’t a good substitute for a pillow, and a horrible blanket, too. I had gone to sleep with his arms around me, but I didn’t have to untangle our limbs when I moved, so, I feel uncharacteristically cold—even though it’s summertime.

Whenever Mom and Dad aren’t home, I take advantage of the thermostat accordingly. If it’s cold, I’ll heat the house and vice versa. Dad hates having it set to anything above or below sixty. That’s another tell-tale sign they’ve yet to return—the temperature in the room hasn’t changed since before I went to Damon’s house yesterday morning.

I rub my eyes, get to my feet, and stretch. I hoped it would be enough to work out the kinks, but I still feel pretty sore as I cross the room. Before I enter the kitchen, I throw a glance over my shoulder. Damon hasn’t stirred, and I happily file that fact away for later.

For the next time, he complains about not being able to get any rest when I’m around. If I didn’t see the rise and fall of his chest, I might have mistaken him for a corpse.

As expected, the kitchen remains untouched. I didn’t bother coming in since dinnertime two days ago, right before Abby and Rudy left for whatever appointment they had. I’m still surprised they bothered to say goodbye, as they neglected to give me my usual pizza stipend.

However, when I go to the fridge to get orange juice, I see something that hadn’t been there before—one of Mom and Dad’s sacred memos:

_Bonnie Bear—  
I know you probably won’t see this right away, but guess what?  
After you left, our plans changed a little.  
Your dad left the room and came back in with a suitcase and flowers!  
He surprised me with an extra stop!  
After our appointment, we are headed to a little resort in Hampton.  
We'll be home in two days.  
If you need us, just call.  
But it’s probably better if you call Phyllis first—she’ll be easier to reach.  
If you need her number, it's by the landline  
Love you,  
Mom_

I yank the paper, ripping it in the process. The part that had been fastened to the refrigerator, still hangs there, though the only words on it are my mother’s pet name for me: Bonnie Bear.

Angrily, I ball up the jagged slip of paper in my hand and drop it on the tiled floor, stomping on it with all the rage I didn’t know I harbored. I make a frustrated sound, it’s high-pitched and shrill, only slightly muffled as my foot creates a dull _thumping_ sound as it hits the ground.

“Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it!” I shout to nothing in particular. It’s not as if my surroundings can say anything back.

And—in an entrance that rivals Beetlejuice—Damon comes into the room, and when I hear him say, “Bon Bon,” his tone confused and quiet, I turn around slowly, my plans for operation: snoring payback circling the drain. His hair is mussed, shirt wrinkled, eyes still heavy with sleep.

“Sorry,” I say sheepishly, “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“I’m not mad about that—I just want to know why you’re berating inanimate objects—again.”

“First off,” I hold up a finger. “The oven burned the cupcakes; it was in no way my fault. Those things should come with an owner’s manual.”

“They do,” he says with a smirk.

I go on as if he hasn’t commented. “And secondly, I wasn’t _yelling at the fridge!”_

“They made a _Baking for Dummies,_ too. And I _tried_ to buy it for your birthday—but _you_ were being picky.”

“And you were being an ass.”

“Isn’t it the thought that counts, Bennett? I thought you lived for stuff like that.”

 _“As I was saying,_ I was yelling at this,” I bend down and pick up what’s left of the pink paper and try to smooth out the crinkles.

He stares at me blankly, as if he thinks I’ve completely lost my mind. “That’s… not any better. Actually, I think it’s worse.”

“Just look at it!” I grumble, shoving it into his hand.

I wait, expectantly, as he reads through the note twice. When he’s finished, he glances at me and then focuses on the paper again. “Okay, that sucks… didn’t your mom mention going to see Amelia with us today?”

I nod slowly, wordlessly.

She had only seen her once since she was born and only seemed mildly interested in doing so again—her answer had been a noncommittal one.

_“I might like to join you, sweetie.”_

Of course, she had said maybe, for several reasons. One, she still seemed a little uneasy with the whole “granddaughter” thing. Two, Dad still hasn’t expressed any interest in going to see her. And well, upsetting him isn’t worth the trouble—which is actually something I get (to a point). He hasn’t softened his opinion of my choices at all and trying to change that is a stress that could be bypassed up to a certain point.

But a small part of me was _excited_ for my mom to see the baby, because then maybe she’d fall in love with her just as I have and give me tips on how to not be the neurotic mess I’ve been since she was born. And, perhaps, Dad’s acceptance would follow… leading to less of an uphill battle on my part.

Clearly, _that_ is a pipedream that needs to be scrapped.

The other part of me is just hurt and confused. Not being able to be with Amelia feels like slow, psychological torture, and it’s fucking horrible. I can’t sleep well, can hardly eat if I’m particularly anxious, and I’m so scared… I just don’t see why my parents don’t love me like I love Amelia. How can they leave me, when I’m going through such a hard time, and not worry?

The pride I had when I just considered it a perk of my high responsibility level has vanished, leaving me with a wound I thought had healed after I came to terms with my grandmother’s passing. Only, now, it feels bigger, the pain amplified so much that I don’t know what to do with it all.

“I’m sorry, Bon Bon,” Damon says gently, wrapping me in a hug so tight that it’s a little hard to breathe. I know he had been counting on her, too, but to a lesser extent. He doesn’t want his own parent around Amelia, so he’d put a little extra faith in Abby.

I told him it wasn’t worth it, that nothing good ever came of it, but he couldn’t quite let it go.

“I just don’t get it… I can’t stand not being with Amelia, but… they don’t care about me like that…”

“I know—I feel like that, too—more than what’s mentally healthy, probably, but you aren’t like that, you’re a great mom.”

I want to argue, but I don’t think I have the emotional strength to do so at the moment. “You’re a great father, Damon. So much so that I still can’t believe I’ve said it multiple times.”

“Okay… that last part earns you a ditto.”

“I’ve heard worse.”

“I need to up my game then…”

We are both silent, and then, I get an idea. And it’s actually something that gives me a bit of relief. My blood-related family might not care, but I have two best friends—sisters—that would love to finally meet their niece.

“Caroline and Elena should meet us instead. I’ll call them so they’ll be there with us for morning rounds.”

“You know,” Damon answers thoughtfully. “I actually don’t have an argument about that. You can call Babysitter Barbie and her unwitting sidekick and Stefan can stop by when they leave.”

“Okay… you’re a great older brother, too, Damon.”

“Tell that to Broody McBroodison.”

“I don’t need to; he already knows.”

* * *

Caroline and Elena are waiting for us at the main entrance to the hospital when we arrive. A suggestion that Elena came up with (she said it would be easier on everyone that way, as everyone knew where the primary lot is), but I have a feeling it has more to do with the fact that Caroline filled her in on my sadness the day prior and she doesn’t want to make it any harder for me.

It’s little gestures like this one that makes me feel like the world—in my eyes—is trying to right all of the wrongs from the past year.

Well, _maybe…_

“Do you think they’ll let her wear the onesie I got her?” Caroline asks as soon as we are within earshot.

I frown, I had an answer ready to go, something along the lines of, _“sure, Care, the nurses are really good about taking pictures, too.”_ But then it dawns on me: I’m not sure. I had been so wrapped up in the medical jargon, in the constant fear that she’s too fragile to be safe in my arms that I hadn’t really thought about the other policies since they were explained to me.

I had filed the information in two categories: life and death matters and everything else. Fashion is definitely an everything else deal—well, until now, but this is Care and I should’ve been more prepared for this sort of thing.

The walk to the NICU vaguely reminds me of how the three of us used to go to almost everywhere in school with each other (if our schedules allowed). But the nurses in bright-colored scrubs and doctors dressed in white coats stick out now—because the thoughts stirring in my brain make little sense.

It’s normal, in a way, because I’ve spent the majority of my life with Caroline and Elena, and the knowledge that I’ve been able to push my problems to the back burner to solve theirs, clashes with the reality that they view me differently. Like I’m fragile.

“She’ll love me the most… I’ll be the cool aunt… sorry Elena, Amelia will want to get styling tips from me.”

Damon snorts. Probably because he’s made quite a few comments on Care’s trendy clothes. “Great—just perfect. It’s what I’ve always wanted—to go broke from buying Caroline-approved onesies,” he pauses, makes a face, and shakes his head. “God, what the fuck is happening to me?”

“Personal growth,” I tell him with a small—rather smug—grin. “Tell me, has your heart grown three sizes yet?”

He stops, ponders my question. “No, but I’ll let you know if I get the urge to talk in platitudes or act like Stefan… I’m not sure which one is worse.” And then he smirks, voices decisive when he says. “Definitely Stefan.”

Elena swats Damon on the arm, frowning.

She doesn’t have time to argue the opposite because we’ve finally reached our destination. As we prepare to visit Amelia, I instruct my best friends to dump the entire dispenser of sanitizer on their hands. Once the nurse informs them of the procedures, we are permitted into the room.

The NICU is much less populated than it had been the other day, but that persistent beeping of the equipment still rings loudly in my ears.

As we approach Amelia’s incubator, Caroline gasps, but I can’t tell if it’s from horror, shock, or awe. “She’s so tiny…” her gaze falls upon the tiny card that displays her information. “Is she really only two pounds?”

“Yes,” I answer dejectedly. I’m always hoping that I’ll come in and see a four transcribed on her chart, but I know I won’t. It took a decent chunk of time for her to gain the half pound that rounds out her current weight—that she hasn’t needed to be on a ventilator for a full twenty-four hours and they’ll tell me everything I need to know, making sure I’m a practical expert on all things micro-preemie and let us take her home.

Sure, that isn’t going to be the house I grew up in, but she’ll be safe, cared for, and loved. Her home will be wherever Damon and I are… until he has to leave again.

But it’s highly unlikely that all of that will occur before the end of the summer, so all the worries and hopes connected to this particular fantasy mean nothing at the moment.

“Oh, Bon… she’s even cuter in person!” Elena smiles at me warmly.

I wonder how much truth there is to that. Amelia still doesn’t quite look like a baby. Damon calls her a better-looking, smaller version of E.T. sometimes—because she _does._ And if I hadn’t been aware of Damon’s inherent love for sci-fi, I’d think it was an insult.

But I do, and any lingering uncertainty is always erased when I watch the way he looks at her.

His expression is always the same: reverent. As if he’s never seen a more perfect representation of everything good in the world.

Damon opens his mouth, ready to comment on how she gets her looks from him but hesitates when he realizes it can be construed negatively if either girl points out her alien-like appearance.

They wouldn’t have paid any attention to him anyway, their focus is on Amelia, just as I know it would be. Care is crooning at her, holding the bag up, as if the baby would understand what’s going on. Elena’s watching from a bit of a distance, a warm expression on her face, marked by a half-smile as if she already knows she’ll have to wait an ungodly amount of time before Caroline will finally move aside to get a better look.

But Elena’s hopes are dashed in an instant.

The monitors begin to beep wildly, signaling a problem, causing Care to jump back. She drops the gift bag and kicks it out of the way as she rushes to my side. Elena’s face falls, eyes going wide as her hands fly up to cover her mouth.

I can’t bring myself to look over at Damon, who had chosen to hang back while my best friends got acquainted with their niece. The last time something like this happened, I was unable to do anything—I was frozen in my spot. This time, I don’t allow myself the time to think about it. Before Amelia had been fine, the equipment just malfunctioned.

This time, however, a cold sense of dread tells me that this issue isn’t an easy fix. I whirl around, making a mad dash for the nurse’s station. Thankfully, I don’t have to go much farther. The doctors and nurses are already rushing over to Amelia.

Amidst all the commotion, I hear someone, one of the nurses—Lucille, who is usually the person who gives me updates when I call—tells us that we need to leave the area.

I don’t move from where I stand for a moment, as I can’t shake the feeling that I’d be more like Abby if I did exit the room—I _refuse_ to be someone who leaves her daughter’s side when she needs me. But Damon takes me by the elbow and leads me away, Elena and Care close behind.

The blinds are drawn so I can’t see what’s happening and I turn my head at an extremely uncomfortable angle to see if I can see in between the cracks.

I can’t.

“I don’t know what happened,” Caroline is saying. “She looked fine… and then all of a sudden that thing went off.”

“I think that was the pulse oximeter,” Damon says, voice even and devoid of emotion.

“In normal speak, please,” she chirps, playing dumb. But Caroline has a pretty good idea of what that means. One, because she’s watched every available episode of _Grey’s Anatomy._ And two, because she’s very astute—able to learn very quickly and to use context clues to fill in any gaps in her knowledge.

“It measures oxygen saturation, at least, that’s how I understood it.”

“From what?” Care demands, because she knows a reliable source when she sees one and Damon doesn’t have a great track record with being straightforward. Everything he says has a layer of sarcasm to it.

Sarcasm that is absent right now. Besides, I remember having everything explained to me before we left the hospital without her. “He’s serious,” I tell her, my own tone hollow and empty.

“Crap—but she’ll be okay… right?”

“I don’t know,” I say and this time, my voice cracks when I get to the end of my sentence.

Damon sighs, as if the answer is right in front of our faces, even though it’s not. “Yes—don’t think like that. She’s _fine.”_

Elena’s frowning at me, peering at me with that worried look again. “Bon?”

“Hm?” I turn my head ever so slightly, so, I don’t have to face her concern.

She approaches me with caution. “Hang in there—okay, I’m sure it’ll be alright.”

If only she sounded as sure as Damon always did.

“Okay,” I murmur weakly, slumping against the wall.

I rest the back of my head on the window, taking long, deep breaths as I stare up at the fluorescent lighting, counting the ceiling tiles to distract myself from the anguished tightness constricting my lungs. My hand finds Damon’s at some point, our fingers intertwine, and I know I won’t have it in me to let him go anytime soon.

_~~X~~_

What feels like hours later—which in reality, had probably only been one—a doctor emerges from the NICU, and keeps his hand on the doorknob when he sees he won’t have to go far to find us.

I’ve had many conversations with this man, and I’ve really grown to like him. His name is Jerome Wilson and he’s a member of Amelia’s team of specialists. He’s an older man, around sixty, with lines on his face, age spots on his tanned skin, and graying hair. He’s so kind and compassionate, choosing his words carefully and with such confidence that I never have to wonder if he’s coddling me because of my age. He has a no-bullshit way about him, one that even Damon doesn’t mind.

Well, he did at first, because he can’t help himself, but once he saw how dedicated this man is to his job, how serious he was about making sure Amelia—and every other child in his care—get to leave safe and healthy, Damon dropped his usual defiant attitude and actually listened to what he had to say.

I study him, hoping to find a sign that there is good news to be given. Only, I can’t really be sure. Dr. Wilson looks somber, but not devastated. I am not confident to say this skews things in one direction or the other. Adrenaline races through me at such a high speed that I can’t really think too clearly.

“Bonnie, Damon?” he gestures for us to follow him down the wide corridor, out of the earshot of the other visitors and hospital personnel

We end up inside a small meeting room.

It’s furnished with a black couch, desk, black chairs, potted plants that look like they were made from wax, and wood-paneled walls. Dr. Wilson takes a chair on the side opposite the little sofa and encourages us to sit as well.

“Amelia is in stable condition,” the older man informs us.

I let out the breath I’d been holding since I saw him exit the NICU. “Thank God!” tears spring to my eyes, but I notice that he doesn’t seem to be in a celebratory mood.

“Then what was wrong?” Damon asks, and he sits up straighter, on high alert, bracing himself for the oncoming storm that I still hope won’t hit us.

“Pneumothorax—which basically means air from her lungs got stuck in her chest wall, which led to her lung collapsing under the pressure.”

A ton of bricks comes raining down on me. That’s not good… that’s fucking awful… my mind races as I try to think of how she could be stable with a condition like that.

Sensing our mutual uncertainty, Dr. Wilson goes on. “It’s an air leak in her chest. And that makes it hard to breathe—it creates pressure that makes it difficult for the lungs to inflate, so, they deflate. In this case, the right lung.”

“But she’s okay?” I ask pathetically, anxiety high, my heart pounding against my ribcage, my own breathing quick and shallow.

“For now, yes. We inserted a tube in her chest to release the extra air. This condition is common in premature babies due to how underdeveloped their lungs are; and since she hasn’t been able to be without the ventilator, she was highly susceptible to it.”

“And what’s the outlook?”

“We’ll monitor her heavily over the next few days and go from there. If anything changes, you’ll be informed of everything of course, but I’m hoping that no further intervention will be needed. Worst-case scenario, she may require thoracic surgery, but at the moment, that is our last option. Catching these types of issues is key—and you acted very quickly—which was excellent. I am confident—though that’s not a guarantee, mind you—that she’ll recover, though she may have some long-lasting effects. Trouble breathing after strenuous activity, for sure—but that’s manageable.”

“Thank you,” Damon says, shaking Dr. Wilson’s hand firmly. For a moment, I think that my boyfriend mistakes it for a flotation device, something to keep him from going under.

To be fair, however, I end up doing and feeling, the same thing.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to finish my rounds. Please don’t hesitate to ask any other questions—as always, Lucille can give you the latest updates, have a wonderful night, you two. Get some rest, you need it as much as Amelia does—don’t forget that.”

“We won’t,” I assure him.

“Good.”

He gives an abrupt nod before leaving us alone, sitting on the lumpy couch trying to process the new information.

“She’s alive and it sounds like whatever they did is working.”

“Yes… but she isn’t any closer to coming home with us.” I’m shaking so much I don’t trust myself to stand up.

“But she will—she just has to get stronger first. And she’ll do that, too—she’s related to you, after all.”

“And you,” I quip.

“That’s how I know she’ll get through it—her parents are the most stubborn people on the planet.”

“People don’t usually see that as a good thing.”

“Because they’re idiots,” he says, kissing my forehead. “They’re jealous of me because I’m so strong-willed.”

“You mean us, right? Not just you?”

“Not that time,” he replies with a smirk.

* * *

I try to open my eyes, but it feels like my eyelids are glued together. My head is heavy, thoughts fuzzy and jumbled. My brain registers the fact that something needs my attention, but I can't figure out what it is. The talking gets louder and more demanding. I finally gather enough strength to sit up, getting my bearings slowly but surely.

Damon is standing over the incubator. I sigh, swinging my legs over to the other side of my chair. Given the current circumstances, Damon and I opted to spend the night here. The hospital has rather nice accommodations for families who wish to stay longer than the typical visiting hours, but space is limited, so we have to take turns with the other parents. Thankfully, Lucille didn’t have anyone signed up for tonight, so, it had been relatively easy to secure our spot at the last minute.

“Is everything alright?” I ask sleepily, rubbing my eyes.

“Uh-huh,” Damon murmurs. “Just thought I should check on her… I don’t know how you can manage to sleep on that thing.” He nods at my chair.

Honestly, I’m not too sure of that myself. I’ve been so out of it the past few days, I’ve been able to doze off in the most uncomfortable places—couches, the backseat of an SUV, this chair—only to wake up feeling worse than I did before I got to sleep.

“Why don’t you sleep on the cot—that’s what it’s there for.”

Damon shrugs. “I’m fine. Besides, I’m getting all the one-on-one time I can. By the time I come home, I’m pretty sure Blondie will try to monopolize her.”

“Good point—she has a real issue with sharing.”

“She may actually be more controlling and uptight than you.”

“I’m going to remember you said that” I tease, trying to read his facial expression. He looks deep in thought like he can’t get past something.

Like he’s stuck.

I stand up, feeling like the tin man before Dorothy saved him, and walk over to Damon. “You’ll have plenty of time to make memories, Damon. Even ones where Caroline isn’t hogging her.”

“I know—I just don’t want the ones I leave with to be depressing. I’m already fucked up as it is; I don’t want to _actually_ feel like a horrible person for trying to do the right thing.”

“But you’re not… and that’s coming from someone who used to hate your guts.”

“I think you secretly always loved my guts,” he says, glancing my way.

“When I imagined them outside your body, maybe,” I concede, putting an arm around his shoulder. “But I guess that counts as the same thing.”

“I’m offended by that…”

“You thought the same thing about me.”

“Only when you were being all judgy.”

“And look at us now,” I tell him. “We’re inseparable.”

He looks at me glibly. “Yeah, now I’m constantly wondering, _‘what would Bonnie think?’_ People are actually starting to think I’m a good person—I actually mean that. If I have to start being nice all the time because of you, you’ll owe me big time.”

“When will you admit that I do not influence your morals?”

He purses his lip, gives it some genuine thought. “Never—I have too fun teasing you.”

“And when Amelia asks you morally ambiguous questions?”

“Why would she do that—that’s your specialty. As I said, I’m the cool one.”

“If you say so, Damon,” I brush his words off, despite my verbal response.

Something tells me that Damon will be far better at the whole “teaching life lessons” deal. I know _I can’t_ possibly live up to the example Grams set, but Damon?

I have faith in him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I want to say thanks for reading. This particular chapter took quite a bit of research and fact-checking and I tried to keep the medical info as accurate as possible. However, for the plot’s sake—certain aspects are skewed to better fit the story’s timeline, but I’m hoping that most explanations are still factual despite that.


	5. Don't Call Me Daughter

* * *

**~Chapter Four~**

* * *

_She holds the hand that holds her down  
She will... rise above...  
Don't call me daughter, not fit to  
The picture kept will remind me_

_~Pearl Jam, Daughter~_

* * *

Damon and I left the hospital late the following afternoon—once we were both certain that Amelia would be fine. Which, to be completely honest, I’m still a little shaken up. I’ve learned more about the respiratory system in the past eighteen hours than I did in an entire semester of anatomy class.

And I would have much rather gotten the information from the pages of a beat-up, defaced textbook than the first-hand experience I received.

But when has life ever been that simple?

I know I can bring up many instances when that question wasn’t a crapshoot, but they all feel so far away now, the minor issues I faced no longer things I would consider problems. And even some things that _weren’t_ a pain in the ass, I now view as inconvenient.

A fact I’m hit in the face with as the door closes behind me, the soft _click_ of the lock sounding much louder than it should. The muffled voices of my parents falling silent when they hear me enter the house. I had been aware that they were home—my mother’s van is parked in the driveway, which meant that I had to park in the street. But… I don’t get the frantic welcome I prepped myself for.

I had texted one of them—I don’t remember who—to give them an update on what was going on, but I didn’t look at my phone after that, so I don’t even know if they responded.

My gut is telling me I should just avoid them, that I don’t want to engage Mom or Dad, but I find myself longing for a hug. And not the sort of hug Damon would give me—I want my mommy or daddy to pick me up as they used to when I fell and scraped my knees, hands, and elbows. I want to be told by someone older and wiser that it’ll be okay. I want my parents to hold me while I cry, beg them to explain away all the scary stuff.

Abby and Rudy haven’t done that sort of thing since I was eight. Grams did it—up until she took her very last breath, in fact. And I’ve been on my own with the whole comforting thing since then, which is part of the reason I’m the problem-solver between Elena, Caroline, and myself—I became a pro at self-soothing at the age of fourteen.

So, why I go into the kitchen looking for emotional support, doesn’t even make sense. Especially when Mom hadn’t bothered to greet me (as she’s the softer of the two).

But I do.

And, before anything happens, I get the feeling that I’ll regret my choice in moments.

They are sitting at the table, sipping from matching _Mr._ and _Mrs._ coffee mugs, different sections of the newspaper spread out in front of them. Dad’s reading the front page while Mom has immersed herself in the _Dear Donna_ advice column—how fucking ironic.

“And where were you, young lady?” my dad asks suspiciously.

I glance from one parent to the other, confused. I guess they _hadn’t_ gotten my message. “The hospital…”

Dad scrutinizes my appearance—from my messy hair to my wrinkled blouse and shorts and back up to my face, taking note of the dark circles underneath of my eyes. “Oh, then where’s Damon?” he makes a big show of peering around me in search of him.

“Stefan brought him home so he could get a shower and change his clothes.”

Dad can’t find any holes in my reply, so, he looks to his wife for confirmation—as if she would know something he didn’t. “Did she tell _you_ she’d be with that _idiot_ all night?”

“No…” she shakes her head. “But service was unreliable up there. I’m sure she didn’t forget to tell us, right Bonnie Bear?”

“Yeah, I let you know… I explained why, too. It was an emergency. Check your messages—it should’ve come through when you got home.”

Dad turns his attention to his phone, which had been sitting on the table beside the _Sports_ section the entire time. “Okay… here it is.”

“Uh, _yeah,”_ I snip despite my better judgment.

“… However, I see any time you spend with Damon as an emergency, so, what happened?”

My vocal cords seize up. My father doesn’t ask for details about Amelia. I’m pretty sure he still actively pretends she doesn’t exist. He told his boss I had some made-up illness when he had to leave work to meet me at the hospital both times and I’d go into shock if he changed his story, though the rumors around town were confirmed as true when I stepped back into school after Amelia was born.

But Dad can’t let my indiscretions ruin his reputation—if he said anything that alluded to the real situation, it was probably that I had a tapeworm cut out of me.

To him, that is pretty close to the truth.

“Amelia’s… her lung collapsed…” I look downward, squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to keep calm. “I was scared… to leave…”

“She’s okay now, though?” Rudy asks, and I don’t know if he’s actually concerned or if this is some kind of prank, a punishment for staying out all night with my boyfriend… the person who screwed me out of every opportunity my parents ever wanted for me.

“Dr. Wilson says so… but…”

“Well, I’m glad she’s doing better,” he interjects, tone gruff.

I’m sure he thinks that makes up for his gaff of downplaying my reasons for not being home, but it’s still a huge slap in the face. It doesn’t even _sound_ like he _means_ it.

“How do I do this?” I ask quietly because, for one second, I see Grams in my mother’s face. They look so much alike… sometimes, it’s hard to believe that they are actually so fundamentally different.

“Bonnie… this is why we wanted you to do something different. You’re just not emotionally equipped to handle these kinds of things…”

_Nope—that’s not something Grams would say… that’s not even something Aunt Calla or Emily would say…_

“I _couldn’t!”_ I yell, hands balling into fists at my sides. “I _tried—_ I told you I went to get an abortion. I told you I _didn’t want to…_ did you even tell Dad about it? Is that why he looks at me like that… because he thinks I was too stupid to even consider it?”

“Bonnie… _calm down.”_ Mom stares at me, silently pleading with me, begging me to shut up.

But the words pour out of my mouth like a faucet, and I hate how right I’m making her look, how she’s got a point—I am clearly not managing my stress levels appropriately. They never needed to help me before and now they don’t know what to do.

They’ve never seen me like this.

“No, I _can’t. I can’t! I need you… to tell me anything—say something helpful!”_

“We tried,” Dad says, jumping to Mom’s defense. “You didn’t take our advice—now look at what’s happening…”

“I just want to know _why!”_ I cry pitifully, voice shrill. So loud and high-pitched that my throat feels raw.

“Why what? Why that boyfriend of yours left you to deal with this alone?” Man, Dad really wants me to regret everything I’ve done, doesn’t he?

I find myself laughing hysterically as tears run down my face. “No—Damon hasn’t _left me alone._ And he hasn’t—not once since I told him about the baby. You… _you_ do it all the time!”

“There’s a reason people think of teen pregnancy in a negative light, kid—this is a prime example. You threw your life away for a guy who took advantage of your naivety and now you have to deal with all the problems that come along with it. I’m sorry the baby has health issues…I certainly want her to be alright… but I can’t fix everything. This is exactly why we urged you to… think about every avenue possible—so, _this_ didn’t happen. I love you, Bonnie but I warned you… you don’t get to take a break. This is your life now. Your grandmother always told you to look at things from every perspective.”

“She also told me to follow my heart.” I spit out, frustration hard to suppress. “So, I did.”

“Well, that’s also why we told you to only listen to _some_ of her advice.”

“Sorry—I must have missed that memo… Mom?” I turn to her once more, hoping she’s had a change of heart. “Tell me how to be a mother… _please…”_

“We’ll try, Bonnie Bear,” she says grabbing onto her husband’s hand. They share a _look_ so unlike the one I’ve grown accustomed to that I’m utterly confused, too stunned to even be thankful that it doesn’t signify their desire to spend the rest of the day in their bedroom—and you know, forget I exist.

“Abby… I don’t know if that is a realistic goal…” Dad’s voice is an odd combination of diplomatic and irritated.

Mom smiles at him, tone light as she continues, “it’s worth a shot, right?”

“I guess we’ll see.”

Okay, I’m missing something, clearly, but I can’t even begin to guess what it is—something is very off about their dynamic, and it has nothing to do with the matter at hand.

The yellow curtains blow when the air kicks on, and it’s so weird that they didn’t bother to reset it when they saw I fiddled around with the temperature on the thermostat.

 _Great, yet another thing to worry about. Weird, disappointed, unpredictable Bennett’s._ That’s _never_ a good combination of personality traits—at least, not when Rudy and Abby are the family members in question.

My phone beeps and I feel a sharp spike of fear run through me like a sword. I’m terrified of the message I might find on the screen, an update from the NICU, telling me that something went wrong again, but it’s not…

It’s the opposite, believe it or not.

Relief washes over me as I read the note left for Damon and me via the hospital’s NICU cell phone app. Lucille is just letting me know that Amelia’s vitals are looking good, that they haven’t fluctuated since we left.

Rudy and Abby catch on quickly—for once. “Everything’s okay, right?”

“Yes,” I let out a long sigh. “Thank God!”

I’m not paying attention—or not _a lot_ of attention—when my parents begin speaking amongst themselves in hushed tones that aren’t easily decodable. So, I take the free moment to say thanks to Lucille and fire off a brief text to Damon.

“Bonnie Bear?”

“Yes, Mom,”

“… is the offer to go see Amelia still on the table?”

* * *

Damon is staring at me in shock, eyes wide and mouth agape. I’m not sure if the way he’s standing—with an arm braced on the doorframe—is for show or a legitimate response to what I just said.

I stick my finger in my mouth and make a move to reach for his ear, but he blocks me with his elbow, straightening his posture and recoiling. “Okay… your reflexes are still good… you really went into the wrong profession, you know. You’d make a very good actor.”

“So, would you,” he counters. “I really believed you for a second.”

I look at him blankly. “I _was_ serious—Mom and Dad want to come with us.”

“The collapsed lung story made them have a change of heart?”

“Yes…” I think this over and shake my head. I don’t know if I would describe their newfound interest as “a change of heart.” If anything, they decided to be _open_ to thinking differently, but there’s no telling how long _that_ will last. “No… sort of. Their behavior’s a little concerning, to be honest.”

Damon nods—if that explanation made any kind of sense—and it didn’t—he would be able to find it. “That’s intriguing.”

“Maybe for _you,”_ I mutter. “Abby and Rudy aren’t _intriguing._ They’re… predictably inconsistent.”

“Not a thing.”

“It is, too. I can always count on them to say and do two entirely different things.”

“… Which is intriguing.”

“If you don’t have to live with it—”

“Is everything going okay, Bonnie Bear?” Mom’s voice floats into the foyer. “We’re almost ready.”

My back stiffens, gripping on the brass doorknob with more strength than I had a second ago. “Yes, Mom… Damon’s so glad you’re coming!”

“Yeah—because I want to make the idiot who knocked up my teenage daughter happy,” Dad calls to us and when he steps into view, it’s clear he’s going to act as though he only meant for my mother to hear when that really isn’t the case.

“Nice to see you again, Rudy.” Damon greets with an air of courtesy that sounds both sincere and backhanded at the same time.

My father huffs, “you, too,” and grabs his keys from the dish on the hall table. “I’ll be in the car.”

Upon hearing the sound of the SUV door slamming shut, Mom swoops in and hugs Damon. If he’s surprised by the gesture, he doesn’t show it—not even to me as he peers over Abby’s shoulder and sees my own bewildered expression.

“It really is nice to see you, Damon, don’t mind him… we’re still adjusting to everything.”

“Of course, Abby, I understand.”

My mouth drops open and I _know_ I look exactly as he did when I said, _“so, Rudy and Abby are pretending to care about Amelia…”_

When Abby hikes her brown, leather purse on her shoulder and says, tone bright, “I’m going to check on your Dad, Bonnie. You two take your time.”

“Um… okay… thanks…”

Damon steps aside, letting my mom pass by, and he turns to me as soon as she’s far enough away that she won’t be able to hear us talk. “She actually sounds like she means it.”

I peer at my parent’s silhouettes, their movements slightly obstructed by the windshield. I’m definitely suspicious. I don’t like the gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“Yeah… we’ll see…”

“Come on, Nancy Drew, you can investigate the case of the pod-parents later—Amelia’s waiting for us.”

“I hope she never has to remember having to wait for us. _Ever.”_

“Something tells me, that despite her incredibly weird, fucked up parents, that will never be a problem.”

“Speak for yourself, Spock. I’m normal.”

“Says the girl who willingly participated in the legendary penis or rocket ship debate.”

I snort derisively and roll my eyes. _“That is not how that conversation went.”_

“Well,” Damon says. “That’s how I remember it…”

“Of course, it is,” I say, pulling the front door closed behind me, making my way down the driveway and to my dad’s car, wanting nothing more than to hold onto my light bantering session with my boyfriend during what is sure to be the world’s most awkward ride.

* * *

As it turns out, my parents seeing Amelia isn’t what I had to be worried about.

Sure, neither Mom nor Dad gushed over her as my friends did, but they look pleased to see she’s doing better after the previous day's emergency. A good thing—because anything has to be better than outright disdain—but I certainly don’t feel relieved or happy that this is what I get.

Because, at the end of the day, if _this_ is the best response I can expect, I have no idea how I’m going to get over this crippling fear I have of inadvertently hurting Amelia.

For what feels like the billionth time in the past twenty-four hours, I find myself wishing I could speak to Grams again, ask her all the questions that I want to have answered.

Like this one:

_If being a mom is so hard, how come you made it look so easy?_

But I’m sure that is a question that comes with a variety of correct responses, and only my grandmother would be able to explain it in a way that made sense.

Damon’s gaze flits from me to the plexiglass window that gives us a clear view of my parents interacting with our daughter. As usual, he is much more relaxed, calm whereas I’m on high-alert, ready to pump the brakes if I feel that something is going wrong.

My whole body is tense as I stand, knees locked and arms crossed over my chest, staring holes into the back of Mom and Dad’s heads—not even Damon’s reassuring one-armed hug can ease my anxiousness.

“They’re doing okay,” he tells me. “Way better than Giuseppe would. Actually, I expected them to disappear once Lucille pulled us away for that update.”

“You don’t think something weird is going on?”

“Oh, the fact that they acted like we stayed out all night partying and then suddenly wanting to see someone they act like they don’t care about is definitely weird, but I don’t have your Spidey-senses, Bennett.”

“Chi, Damon, I listen to the way I feel.”

“I don’t think you’re allowed to say that if you pick and choose what to listen to.”

I scoff. “Says you—the naysayer of chi.”

“I prefer the title of, loving and concerned boyfriend.” He supplies as if I’ll opt to use his terminology instead.

“Of _course,_ you would—it makes you sound better.”

“Well, yeah. Why else would I suggest it?”

I throw him a pointed look. “Excuse me—your lame attempt at flattery makes me feel like I have to puke.”

“Love you, too, Bon Bon,” he calls after me as I make my way over to the bathrooms closest to the NICU.

In all honesty, I don’t feel sick. I don’t even need to go to the bathroom. I just came in here to try to gather my thoughts, which is really a ploy to get rid of my anger before I have to face Rudy and Abby again, listen to their fake exclamations about how they simply _adore_ their granddaughter.

I push my foot down on the pedal that controls the faucet and splashes cold water onto my face over and over again. When the temperature starts to rise, I turn the sink off and take a step backward. I examine my appearance carefully, practicing my smiles so that they will look believable to my mom and dad.

Though, I’m not sure they’d notice if I had a complete mental breakdown in the middle of the corridor that connects the neonatal intensive care unit and the maternity ward. Damon would see it coming a mile away, then the hospital personnel would follow, _then_ my parents might realize what’s going on.

But I doubt it.

I wait another few minutes before I gather up all my patience and leave the women’s restroom—I’m going to need much more of it than I think I have, so, this will definitely be a test of my emotional control.

I can only hope that my time-out made it stronger.

I’m rounding the corner, expecting to meet Damon in the waiting area, making snide remarks as he gives in and watches the rerun of _Counting On_ currently playing on the television. I wouldn’t even be all that surprised if my Mom and Dad lasted another five minutes in the NICU with Amelia… and yet, I’m met with a totally different scenario.

My parents aren’t by the baby’s incubator anymore—they’re standing just outside the entrance, a strange, abstract sculpture partially blocking my line of vision.

I tip-toe to where I’ll be concealed from view, directly behind a wall that dipped inward to make room for a water fountain. I wedge my body in-between the structures and peek at the orange and blue blocks that make up the three-dimensional art piece in front of Mom and Dad.

I can’t see them, so they won’t be able to see me. But I _can_ hear them—sort of. Their words are garbled, but I am still able to understand the general meaning of their sentences.

_“Rudy, she said we need to… it’s… Bonnie is… I hate…” – Mom._

_“I am Abs, I am… she’s a… though… damn it… can’t… stand this bullshit… I’m tired of…” –Dad._

I slink away when I realize I don’t want to hear anymore. And, okay, maybe I _didn’t_ really get the gist of what they were communicating, but it didn’t sound pleasant.

Not that things in the Bennett household have been pleasant since Dad found my misplaced nine-week scan before I had the chance to break the news to them personally, but I used to think a girl could hope—but I don’t think I can keep having faith in people who probably didn’t give a shit about me in the first place.


	6. Tell Me How You Really Feel

* * *

**~Chapter Five~**

* * *

_(When) When I was younger (when I was young) so much younger than today  
(I never need) I never needed anybody's help in any way  
(Now) But now these days are gone (these days are gone) and I'm not so self-assured _

_~The Beatles, Help!~_

* * *

I feel as though I might have entered another dimension when I find my mother standing by the island, elbows propped on the white countertop.

I had just turned around from getting a cup of yogurt from the refrigerator, and she is one of the _last_ people I’d expect to be home at this time. I check the clock on the oven and see that it’s already five past nine in the morning—on a Wednesday, at that. Abby Bennett _should_ be at the museum delegating which unlucky guide has to take the kids from space camp on a tour.

And _I’m_ supposed to attempt to eat something, before wallowing in self-loathing, while somehow trying to convince myself that I shouldn’t ( _can’t)_ be scared to go see Amelia by myself. That I’ve had far more experience at being rational than Damon, who can’t come with me because he has a checklist of things he needs to get done before his looming departure.

Things that I encouraged him to do on his own because if I’m along for the ride, it’ll take much longer than it would if he were alone. We’ll end up bickering over something, then laughing, only to realize we’ve wasted a solid thirty minutes on completing a task that really could’ve been taken care of either of our ways.

And, well… I _thought_ spending time apart would prepare me for later on, but I’m kicking myself for it now. What if something goes wrong when I’m alone with her? What if something goes wrong and I’m _not_ with her?

If something terrible happens and I miss out on being with her because I’m a neurotic basket case that can’t get her shit together.

On top of _that_ unending conundrum, I now have to deal with half of the anti-Bonnie fan club.

“Mom, what are you doing here?”

“I live here, Bonnie.”

 _Not really,_ I think. _I live here. Alone most of the time—and this includes before I blew up the massive amount of trust you had in me._ “I know, but—” I turn back to the fridge, take the memo pad off the door, and show it to her. “It says right here— _Wednesday, 8:30—Mom needs to be at work for the space camp field trip.”_

“Phyllis offered to oversee it for me,” she explains, waving her notes away.

Phyllis—my mother’s best friend and co-worker. The woman I’m supposed to call in case of an emergency and Mom and Dad can’t be reached. Really, I just always call her first, as it’s more efficient that way. Or I used to—before I turned sixteen and got my driver’s license. I haven’t really needed her assistance since then. And the last two times _I_ personally ended up in the hospital, Damon had been the one to call my parents.

And, who knows? He may have spoken with Phyllis first for all I know.

I grab a spoon and tear the lid off of my meager excuse for breakfast. I’m not all that hungry anyway. “That’s nice of her… are you and Dad doing something?”

“No,” she says, an edge in her voice.

“Oh… uh, what are you planning on doing?” I try to act as if I care as if I’m not still hurt over her lukewarm reaction to Amelia as if their visit weren’t a pathetic attempt at extending an olive branch.

She sounds a little unsure of herself when she answers. “Hanging out with you, I hope—you and Damon aren’t going out?”

Well, seeing as he isn’t here (which he typically is when Abby and Rudy are out), and our “going out” lately has mostly just been to the NICU, occasional dinner date aside, that’s a definite no. She knows it, too. She’s just looking for a plausible reason for why I would decline—one that doesn’t involve the giant crater that’s always been the center point of our relationship.

“He’s running errands today,” I say casually, not wanting to put an ounce of emotion into my reply.

“That’s nice,” she sounds much happier now. “I mean, that leaves time for us to do something together.”

I cringe inwardly. Mom’s never been one to wallow, and I’ve really taken to it. “Mom…”

“You have every right to be upset with me, Bonnie Bear—with both of us—but we’re trying. I promise we are! We want to make things better.”

I sigh, “it’s not you…” and in a very un-Bonnie-like way, add, “it’s not just you and Dad, I mean.”

“You’re not mad at us anymore?” she asks hopefully.

“I am,” I state flatly. “I’m just…” _tired, scared, sad, anxious, unsure._ “I’m staying strong—that’s what you guys told me to do when Grams died; that’s what I’m doing now.”

“That’s not fair—you know we didn’t mean it like that. You were fifteen, Bonnie. You were capable of understanding what we intended to say.”

“I don’t know how to handle this, Mom. I want to scream and cry and then, I don’t feel like it. And, when I finally do, I can’t control myself. So, this is what you get.”

She pauses. “… That’s normal, you know.”

“I know. That is what all the brochures tell me.”

“You can’t control everything, sweetie,” she reaches out to me. I don’t take her hand, but I don’t move back either.

Mostly because the part of me that isn’t hyper-sensitive feels like a zombie.

“You sound like Damon,” I force myself to finish the yogurt, twirling my spoon around the empty container when I’m done.

“How are you two?”

“As good as can be expected, I guess.” I keep my eyes on the counter.

“No, I mean, as a couple… how are you two in that respect?”

“Great,” I answer. And that single word has more emotion in it than anything I said prior.

“You like him a lot.”

I feel like she missed her opportunity to have this conversation with me, but I find myself speaking aloud before I actually know how I want to respond. “I do.”

“You guys are being safe, right?”

My cheeks flush. She’s entirely too late on that one. “Mom! Seriously?”

“I’m just checking… I’m sure you two have spent the night together when your father and I are away for a trip.” Oddly, she doesn’t sound accusatory nor is she expressing disapproval… Abby sounds genuinely interested in the goings-on of my life.

If only it wasn’t an aspect of my life that I still wanted to avoid discussing with her.

“That’s not really a priority right now,” I huff irritably.

“Oh.”

I don’t tell her that it’s mainly because I haven’t gone to the doctor since that ill-fated day I helped Elena. I hardly think she cares about the why as it is. I’m also still a little freaked out she’s bothered to talk with me for as long as she has.

“Do you want to talk about why you seem so forlorn, then? Amelia’s still doing well, I thought.”

“Not really,” I mumble.

“Okay… well, I want to go out to lunch,” she stops to see if I’ll take the bait and ask to go with her before she has to ask me. “Would you like to come with me?”

 _No._ Though, somehow I don’t think that’s an option. She has _that look_ in her eyes—the one she reserves for when she’s working. The expression that says, _“I’m in charge here.”_ Grams had the ability to do it, too. However, she only pulled it out when I threw a tantrum or if she truly and passionately believed in something.

I’ve seen her use it far more than I saw Mom try the same tactic—somehow, it meant something else to me entirely when my grandmother did it.

“Okay, I’ll go, but I want to try to make it to the hospital by two-thirty.” It’s weird how much harder it is to mope when you’re faced with a much scarier, more undesirable scenario.

Because, despite all the turmoil, being with Amelia is all I truly want to do.

“Great!” my mother claps her hands together like she’s just sealed a business contract. “If we leave the house by eleven-thirty, we should make it to the NICU in plenty of time.”

 _We?_ I furrow my brows. Out of all the twists, the universe could have thrown my way, that one is the least likely. And I really don’t know what to think about it. It seems stupid to think it will be any different than last time or the time before that or all the times she awkwardly declined my invitation.

“I don’t know. You seemed uncomfortable the other day—are you serious about going with me or is it something else?”

“What else could I be?”

I study her face, searching for a grimace, watching to see if she averts her gaze or fiddles with the pendant around her neck.

Not a single movement is made—not even a twitch or a blink.

“Listen, Mom. I’m not kidding, I feel like crap. If you’re going to make this harder than it needs to be—”

“I won’t!” she cuts me off, there’s a certain insistence I haven’t heard from her before. About anything. “Give me another chance.”

I tell myself that I’m only agreeing because I’m tired of talking in circles, saying the same thing over and over again to someone who probably won’t listen to me anyway. “Okay, you can come.”

“Thank you, Bonnie Bear.” Abby walks around the island and wraps me in a hug I awkwardly return. “You won’t be disappointed. I promise.”

I remember all those times when I was younger... when she would say she’d play with me, only to have her rush to the museum when someone called her with the smallest issues. Dropping me off at Elena’s house and kissing me goodbye as if I’d forget about how she couldn’t spend time with me. _Again._ What I can’t recall is the exact moment I stopped believing it. And I assumed most people did the same thing. It took Grams months of promising she’d pick me up from school or bake cookies with me—showing up on-time, every single time—before I realized promises actually meant something.

They just didn’t mean anything to Abby and Rudy Bennett.

But Grams's voice echoes in my ears as if she were standing next to me, giving me words of wisdom. _“You have to_ let _me show you that I’ll always be here for you—and I_ will be. _Always. Nothing will ever change that.”_

I know Grams would want me to _try_ to let my mother in, because she was also a big proponent of being the best you can be, even if others don’t do the same, but I also don’t want to add more sorrow to a situation that feels like it’s making me unravel from the inside out.

Only, I never really understood how important everything Grams had told me is. Oftentimes, I would end up brushing her advice off, not really sure anything in my life would go as deep as her words did.

Boy, I was sorely mistaken.

“Okay, Mom,” I say, giving her a pat on the back.

I can’t bring myself to tell Abby that I believe her. I wish I could, as it would relieve some of the tension between us. And, if I only had to worry about myself, the words would fall so easily from my lips; I wouldn’t think twice about it.

_“Don’t worry—I’m fine.”_

_“Really, it’s okay, how do you need me to help?”_

_“Don’t worry about it—there wasn’t a problem.”_

It used to be so simple. Those are my stock answers for when anyone needed anything from me. Because I’d much rather be reliable than the one who needs to rely on people. You don’t get hurt that way.

The only one I’ve been able to be semi-open with is Damon, but he’s also the only other person who I trust, and who understands the true gravity of everything we’ve been through.

Together.

I never thought I’d have someone directly by my side when the going got tough, and it’s so amazing to have that kind of support, inviting others into my world is just asking for trouble. Especially since the person asking for trust is my mom—but, someday, Amelia might need her for something.

So, I won’t burn that bridge completely—no matter how much I think I should. I can’t deny Amelia the chance to have a relationship with her grandmother like I had with mine.

 _That’s_ why I’m doing it—and it’ll be enough to get me through a painful lunch date, perhaps it would even make my visit with Amelia less daunting—because if I over-think it all, I might not ever pluck up the courage to see her without Damon.

* * *

Abby has decided she wants to take me to the Grille. I’m not sure why at first, as the atmosphere and menu don’t appeal to her, but then she says it’s because I love onion rings so much. I was too taken aback by her explanation, that I fell silent, mulling over her words while she made the short drive to Mystic Falls's most popular bar and only restaurant that isn’t part of a chain.

I am still pinned back by the seatbelt when my mother parks the car and gets out, patiently waiting for me to join her.

She comes over to the passenger’s side and opens my door. “You okay in there, sweetie?”

“How’d you know I like onion rings so much?” The question would probably sound silly to an outside observer, but my mom hates to cook and isn’t a huge fan of takeout. That coupled with her frequent absences means that she’s never had that great of an idea of what foods I love and which ones I hate.

She gives me a funny look. “You left a receipt on the table awhile back—it said you bought three orders of them one day. I was going to ask you if that’s all you ate, but I forgot about it. Knowing what I know now, I’m guessing it was a pregnancy craving.”

“You’d be right,” I admit, cringing.

“… And I also figured it would be a good conversation-starter.”

I’m puzzled. Since when did she care about anything to do with that time in my life? “Oh…”

 _At least she’s trying…_ I tell myself, but it doesn’t really reassure me that much.

“We should be open with each other, I think. All of us—your father included. And to do that, we need to be able to communicate.”

“About onion rings?”

“No,” she laughs. “About everything that’s going on with our family.”

Okay, _that’s_ new verbiage. “You _and_ Dad want to be more open with me?”

“Yes,” she says earnestly. “We do.”

“Since when?” I ask, finally climbing out of the minivan.

“For a while now. We’re just on different pages on how to go about it.”

“Really?” I don’t know what else to say, how to respond to that, because it certainly doesn’t look, sound, or feel that way most of the time.

I can still hear the whispered disagreements that have at night when they think I’ve gone to sleep. What they’ve yet to acknowledge are two very important things:

One, the walls are—and always have been—paper-thin.

And two, since that scare at the hospital what decent sleep I’ve been able to get has all but disappeared. I’m worried about how many times I’ll see that scene play out in my dreams, how it will feel like my heart stopped, only to wake up feeling like I’ve run a marathon.

It’s so awful that I’m beginning to wish they would leave me by myself again, so Damon could come over, and we could fall asleep to one of his nightmare-inducing horror film picks, _Star Trek,_ or my personal favorite: _The Bodyguard._

But their memos haven’t included any business-related trips or romantic getaways, so that isn’t exactly a viable scenario. Dad wouldn’t go for it. And Mom… well, I don’t know what’s going on with her.

“Really.” She takes my hand, pulling me across the lot toward the front of the restaurant.

The Grille is busy.

Not jam-packed, but the seats at the bar are filled and the section closest to the pool table only has two booths and a single table available. My classmates make up three-quarters of the crowd. I see some people who graduated with me, like Camille O’Connor and some of Klaus’s friends, but no one I really spoke with regularly. And farther away, at the tiny table, Enzo and I occupied all those months ago, are Jeremy and Anna.

I’m glad to see that they’re still going strong, that the boy I think of as a little brother looks so _happy._ He’s grinning from ear to ear, holding his girlfriend’s hand, listening intently as she tells him something.

But I don’t feel joy in the way I usually do—it doesn’t give me a sense of contentment that it once did. Seeing my friends in such a good mood means a lot to me, but… I don’t _feel_ it as strongly as I thought I might.

I _care,_ but I’m also forlorn. Damon and I haven’t been able to have a relaxed night like that since the time we ran into Elena and Stefan. It feels so _wrong_ to be happy when our world could come crashing down on us.

“Bonnie, we’re going this way.” My mother tugs on my arm.

I turn to see her following the hostess to a booth on the other side of the room. I forget about my listlessness for a moment to give myself time to catch up to them. In the few seconds it took for Mom to alert me to the fact that we were being seated, they had already made it to the table.

Once I make it over to her, thank the hostess for the menu, and slide into the upholstered bench, Abby looks up at me, sliding her own menu to the end of the table.

When she doesn’t look away, I decide it might be best if I made small talk. That’s the only kind of talk we are good at having. “Did you figure out what you’re going to order?”

“Roasted brussels sprouts,” she tells me, smiling wistfully.

I wrinkle my nose in distaste. Grams always tried to get me to try them—just once—but I refused. They looked weird and smelled funny. “You like brussels sprouts?”

“Yes—your grandmother made them for dinner all the time when I was younger. I used to hate them, but one day, I finally gave in and ate a few, and then I ate Marshall’s and Calla, who was pregnant with Emily at the time, gave me her helping and…” she shrugs. “I’ve always been a terrible cook, so I haven’t had them… well, since Grams passed away.”

“She always told me I’d like them,” I admit, “but… she never convinced me to eat one.”

“That doesn’t surprise me—you’ve always had a secret stubborn streak."

I give her a wry look. Before now, she told all of her friends how agreeable I am, bragged to Uncle Marshall when Sasha was grounded for something as silly as accidentally pressing the alarm button on her keys, letting the whole block that she’d snuck out after her curfew.

 _“Bonnie has never done anything like that,”_ she’d say. _“She’s too level-headed for that.”_

“Not about everything,” she explains hastily. “Just the things you’re passionate about… the things you _really want—_ like Whitmore.”

I turn my attention to the menu, pretending to seriously consider all the options even though my stomach is still in knots—I don’t even think I’d be able to enjoy an order of onion rings, which will probably disappoint my mother.

“And Amelia.”

My head snaps up, and I study my mom suspiciously. She’s always had a problem with being direct. Her words often made me dizzy as my thoughts circled, trying to grasp what she was trying to say.

Today, though, she’s pulling no punches.

I shut my menu, placing it on top of hers. “I couldn’t be anything else—I tried. But you know that. You’ve known it for about as long as I have.”

“I don’t know where you got that other trait from,” Abby says, shaking her head from side to side, her curls falling in front of her eyes.

“What trait?”

“You’re such a people-pleaser, Bonnie Bear, you are always so concerned about anyone else—I’ve yet to meet another eighteen-year-old who puts everyone else first all the time. My mom… she was helpful, but you take it to the extreme.”

I frown—that doesn’t sound like a compliment. My mom, with her business-chic attire and work-oriented mind, thinks about how she can reach her goals, implements her ideas, and doesn’t worry herself with the collateral damage.

“Everyone has limits, Bonnie, even you—but you spent three going along with our plans without saying anything about doing anything different.”

“It didn’t matter, then.”

“But why?”

 _Because you never asked or sat down to talk to me about it, because you weren’t there for me to approach you because a biophysics degree from Yale seemed like the only thing you cared about._ “… I don’t know.”

“I think Damon helped you figure it out,” she muses thoughtfully.

“We weren’t exactly responsible about anything,” I point out.

The waitress, Pam, stops by our table and asks what we want to drink.

“Coffee, please.” Mom answers.

“Just water—” I say quietly. “No lemon, please.”

“Are you ready to order food?”

Mom says she wants brussels sprouts and I reluctantly place an order for onion rings. My stomach churns when I say the words.

Pam takes our menus and promises to return shortly. Abby continues speaking as if we never paused to deal with something else. “No, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be. And I think it ultimately forced _you_ to make a plan. You; not me or Dad or even Elena or Caroline.”

Yeah, because _that_ worked out so well.

She sees that I’m not swayed by her explanation. “Your father and I are starting to see that we may have handled things… too harshly. And we’re working on not acting that way, but you have to understand, babies are such hard work, honey. We just wanted the best for you.”

“I’m not mad at you because you were _disappointed._ Not even because you were mad at me—I get that. But I don’t know what I’m doing, and I thought Damon and I would get the hang of it before he left… and I’m starting to think she won’t come home before he has to go.”

 _And, you know, she could’ve died when her lung collapsed,_ but I keep reminding myself that she’s been okay since she had that procedure.

“How about we try to figure it out together—the four of us?”

My immediate instinct is to tell her no, that I should do it on my own, that expecting Dad to tolerate my boyfriend is asking for far too much.

However, I’m saved from voicing my thoughts when Pam comes back, carrying a tray of drinks in one hand, a waiter trailing behind her with our food.

Thankfully, Mom seems to forget about our conversation when she gets her brussels sprouts. She takes one, pushing her plate my way. “Try one.”

And, instead of declining vehemently, I pick up a sprout and pop it into my mouth.


	7. Trying Times

* * *

**~Chapter Six~**

* * *

_And you know I see right through you  
Cause the world gets in your way  
What's the point in all this screaming?  
You're not listening anyway_

_~The Goo Goo Dolls, Acoustic #3~_

* * *

_Okay, everything will be fine,_ I tell myself. _You’re not alone—there’s no need to be so scared._

I think of Grams and brussels sprouts as I lead my mother down the corridor to the NICU, I try to tune out the announcements made over the intercom, and the attempt at my mom is making at having a second meaningful conversation with me—two in one day, how’d I get so lucky?

“… I’m so excited, Bonnie Bear, really, thank you for letting me tag along…”

I reach for the door, jumping out of the way when someone on the other side pushes it open.

Dr. Wilson expertly dodges Mom, who only barely missed getting hit, and turns to greet me. “Bonnie, I’m so glad I caught you!”

He’s not frantic, so that must mean everything is alright—for the time being, though he looks tired, and I feel a pang of sympathy for him. I can’t even begin to imagine the amount of stress this job puts on him and to deal with emotional families on top of that… it’s a wonder he’s so even-keeled.

“Not for bad reasons,” I say, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He gives me a wry smile, glancing sideways at my mother. “This must be your mother. Lucille told me Amelia’s grandparents stopped by. “I’m Dr. Wilson,” he extends a hand toward Mom, who accepts it without hesitation. “You have a remarkable daughter, Mrs. Bennett.”

 _See? Not everybody has lost hope in me._ The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t say them aloud. Somehow, I feel that if Dad were around to hear it, the statement might have more of an impact on her.

“Abby,” she says jovially. “Please, call me Abby.”

“Well, it was nice meeting you, Abby. Can I speak to you for a minute, Bonnie?”

I nod. “Of course.”

“It’ll only take a minute,” I don’t know if he’s talking to my mom or me.

It doesn’t matter, though, because Dr. Wilson is guiding me over to a quiet space on the other end of the hallway. I follow robotically, anxiety washing over me despite my more rational side telling me that, if it were something awful, I would’ve gotten a call. I’d also be here with Damon instead of my mom…

“She’s doing well, Bonnie,” The doctor says evenly. “I just wanted to let you know that she still isn’t able to breathe on her own. I’d hoped to be able to take her off the ventilator for some time today, but she just isn’t ready for that yet. I just wanted to tell you personally—it’s not bad news, it’s just not the news I wanted to give. But don’t give up hope, okay? There’s still a decent chance she’ll be home before Damon leaves.”

Before this setback, the chances were good. Now, they’ve been downgraded to decent. The hope isn’t something I feel I can give up on; it’s more like something that is just out of my reach, and if I could only stretch a bit further, I might be able to have it.

When I can’t find the words to respond, the older man fills in the silence. “I know this is difficult, Bonnie. But Amelia’s resilient and she’s improving, each day is better than the last. It’s just going to take longer to reach our goal than originally expected.”

“But she’s had a good day so far?”

“Yes, she has.”

I get ready to say goodbye, tell Dr. Wilson that I hope he has a good night, and thank him for taking the time to update me in-person, but he’s peering at me with concern.

“Thank you, Dr. Wilson,” I begin, forcing a smile. “I really appreciate you taking the time to talk to me.”

“I know you do. Did you go over any of the pamphlets your caseworker gave you?”

I want to say yes, that I have a copy of all the policies on my desk at home, and another set in the glove box on my Prius, and one saved on Damon’s phone because chances are, he’ll lose the papers again, just like he did with the first set. Only, the guidelines are still a fuzzy memory and I know that he’s not referring to those.

He’s talking about the ones geared toward helping parents cope with all the stress that they are under. And, no, I haven’t. Not since she gave them to me and went over the basics with both Damon and me before she let us go.

“I’ve skimmed them,” I finally say, because that’s the truth—when the paragraphs were read aloud, I lazily followed along, nodding when she paused, smiling when she asked if I understood.

“That’s good—if you need another one, let Lucille know before you go. I know how easy it is for Damon to misplace things.”

“Way too easy.”

“… and Marnie Rudolph is your caseworker, right?”

“Yes.”

“You can call her if you need any extra information about the resources we have available to you.” Dr. Wilson pulls Marnie’s business card from his clipboard and hands it to me.

I’m a bit taken aback. It’s almost like he knew he’d run into me. “Thank you.”

He beams at me warmly. “You’re welcome, Bonnie. It’s a difficult situation to be in—I just want you to remember you won’t be alone. You and Damon have been very supportive of each other and it’s wonderful, but you may find that it will be less stressful when he’s gone if you have people to talk to that are going through the same thing… with better cell phone reception.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I’m holding you to that,” he says sternly, glancing down at his pager. “Well, I’ve got to get going, but you have a wonderful night.”

“You, too,” I reply. “And thank you—again. I won’t forget we had this talk.”

“Good.”

And with that, Dr. Wilson heads down the hall, pace brusque, footsteps echoing even as he disappears through another set of doors. I walk back over to my mom, who is scrolling through her phone as she sits on the small wooden bench, legs stretched out, black heels tapping on the floor.

“Is everything okay?” she asks, looking up at me when she senses me approaching.

“Yeah—Dr. Wilson was just giving me an update.”

“How’s Amelia?” she presses, and I can’t figure out the emotion behind her question.

I chew on my bottom lip, unsure of how much I should reveal. “Fine. She can’t be off the ventilator yet, though. So, that sucks.”

Abby’s face falls. “Oh, I’m sorry, sweetie.”

“It’s okay, Mom.” I tell her, and add, “at least the treatment is working,” just in case she thinks my assurances are a blanket statement that absolves her from any other issues she and Dad have exacerbated.

“See? That’s the way to look at it!”

“Yeah… I guess you’re right…”

And do we resume our trek to the NICU, Mom praising me for being so positive, while I rework all my daydreams centering around Amelia’s departure from the hospital—no Damon, just me. It’s not ideal. My picture-perfect version of what my family would look like isn’t lining up with the real world, and in this particular scenario, I’m not even fighting against two unwilling participants.

No, the only wrench in my dream is time. And the sucky thing about it is that I have no idea how much time I have to make contingency plans.

* * *

“So,” Damon says, pelting me with a potato chip. “I did some solo adulting—now it’s your turn.”

I eye the bag of chips sitting between us. I should’ve known giving him unfettered access to the snack foods would cause a second “snack war,” as Damon so aptly named it. The first one occurred the first time we went to a movie together and I’ve done my very best to not allow him to try to even the score.

Until now.

I reach for the bag, but Damon snatches it away before I get close enough to touch it. “I’m not going to just _let_ you have ammunition. You have to make a deal with me first.”

“And what are your terms?”

“Go to the doctor,” he replies. “Call and make an appointment—right here, right now—and take the first available date.”

“What kind of lame request is _that?”_ I huff indignantly, falling back against the couch, groaning.

“A reasonable one… a boring one, but I’m hoping you’ll give me a freebie for caring about your health so much.”

“Damon, I’m sure if something were physically wrong with me, I’d know it.”

“Really, Bonster? There’s so much wrong with you—you’re judgy, not to mention anal-retentive, and not in a good way…” he ticks off my flaws on his fingers.

“I said _physically,_ Damon.”

“Sue me—I had the perfect opportunity to make a joke, I had to take it.”

“I’m pretty sure you’ve used that one before—multiple times.”

My boyfriend shrugs. “It’s a classic—you get all embarrassed, I’m entertained…”

“I’m not.” I snap, glaring at him.

He smiles. That cute, charming half-grin he gives me when he wants me to forget about whatever asshole-ish thing he’s done. Way back when we were kids, he would look at me like that in hopes that I wouldn’t tell on him for pulling on my braids or dangling a worm in front of my face.

It always worked on Elena—he even had Caroline fooled for a time, but not once did I ever let him deter me.

It also turns out that it is a lot easier said than done nowadays—but only because deep down, I know he’s right and that he’s only pushing me to do something I really would rather not because he loves me.

Damn Damon and his good intentions.

“I’ll forgive you if you’ll hand over the chips,” I hedge, hoping he’ll comply. But this is Damon, so the chances of that are slim.

Practically non-existent.

“Sure,” he says, holding them out. Only, when I move to take them, he pulls his hand back. “ _After_ you make that call. And I’d really like you to do it soon because being the responsible one is still out of my purview.”

“Fine.” I take my cell phone out and dial the number, stalling by pretending that I had to double-check I had the correct one.

The receptionist picks up on the third ring. “Good afternoon, you’ve reached the office of Dr. Cameron and Dr. Howard, how can I direct your call?”

“My name is Bonnie Bennett… Um, I’m calling to schedule an appointment. For a check-up… I uh, gave birth and um… I had to come in because of an injury.” I omit the fact that I knowingly caused it.

“And when was this?”

“The eighth, I think.”

“Okay… well, you’re in luck—we have an opening for Thursday at seven in the morning, will that work?”

I glance at Damon, who is smirking back at me—he must’ve heard the time I was given. “Yes—that’s perfect!”

“Okay, Bonnie—let me pull your information up… what’s your date of birth?”

“February 5th.”

“And the date you gave birth?”

I flinch but relay the date calmly.

“Alright—I’ve got you down for Thursday at seven—see you then.”

“See you then,” I repeat weakly.

* * *

Time stands still.

And when it resumes, it seems to go by so much quicker. I wonder if this is due to stress, sleep deprivation, or a completely inconsistent schedule. Probably a mixture of all three with a bit of procrastination thrown in for good measure. That is why I'm sitting in the waiting room of the gynecologist's office at seven ‘o clock in the morning—apparently, not too many people were fond of taking that time slot. Which is why this was the first opening the receptionist rattled over the phone, or so she told me when I waltzed through the door, yawning and very out of it. I'm not too proud of the fact that I must check my phone multiple times to write the correct date on my medical forms, but I guess that’s what I get for dragging my feet.

My head hurts and my eyes are stinging. I can barely concentrate on the papers in front of me. I hadn't realized that lack of sleep could also cause dizziness and nausea until my bad dreams began occurring at regular intervals. I look straight ahead and attempt to focus on a singular point in the waiting room, but the elegant swirls on the wallpaper appear like they are moving up and down—like a conveyor belt.

I blink and everything goes back to normal.

The room stops spinning. I take a deep breath. _You need a nap,_ I tell myself, _a long one._ I doubt I will be allowed the luxury, though. Mom will want to see how everything went, and Dad will barely hide his resentment before he reminds her that they have an appointment to get to. Then, he’ll eye Damon and me warily, before telling us—for the fifth time—that it will only take an hour tops and they could return in a moment’s notice.

_At least Damon and I will be alone._

And when my parents get home, they (and by that, I mean Abby) will insist on going with us to see Amelia—even though I assured my newly-attentive parental unit that she did not have to put _visit my granddaughter_ on her schedule.

Because I’m still not totally comfortable having either of them around.

God, I hope they will be able to tell me when my emotions will return to their pre-pregnancy state. From the information, I have been told (which does not include all the research I did before the baby came home) I should be acclimating to the new routine by now. Unless I misinterpreted something, which rarely happens.

I'm just about to resume filling out my address when I feel another presence enter the room.

I should have just kept my head down and minded my own business because I really don't feel like dealing with the person who has decided to sit down beside me. Her blonde hair is cascading down her back in perfect loose waves, make-up dramatic, and outfit fashionable. A floral-print tank top and a pair of white shorts. The gold shadow rimming her eyes brings out the blue in them.

Rebekah always looks as if she has stepped directly off a runway.

I try not to spend too much time comparing myself to her. I'm not the same well-put-together young woman I had been at the end of my junior year in high school. I have more important things to do than think about Damon's ex-girlfriend. Too many things have happened. I'm sure she doesn't harbor any ill-will toward me.

"Bonnie Bennett—fancy seeing you here!"

Okay, never mind. The fake saccharine tone she uses puts her _she buried the hatchet_ theory to shame.

"I know," I answer with the same over-bearing sweetness. "It's like this is the only office in town."

She smirks and for just a second, I can see why she and Damon hit it off so quickly. They both possess an air of arrogance—the kind that makes them impervious to the feelings of everyone else.

"I need a prescription refill," Rebekah says as if I asked her for an explanation. "For birth control… maybe _you_ should ask about it. It would have saved you a bunch of trouble."

"Have you ever seen the movie _Idiocracy?_ If not, you should. That's what happens when people of _your_ intelligence level breed. You’re doing the world a great service."

Her lips curl into a vicious sneer. "Too bad you didn't."

I'm more hurt than angry at her words. Rebekah _is_ right about the trouble… not that Amelia is trouble. I just can't recall a time that I haven't been stressed out about something that dealt with my unplanned pregnancy. Shocker, huh? And now, instead of going off to Yale— in which I had ended up being accepted—I'm going to be stuck in an apartment, rooming with a practical stranger, virtually alone, with a micro-preemie while everyone else will be off _experiencing_ the world.

I try not to glare at the advertisement on the back of the magazine Rebekah picked up. Once again, I’m faced with the snapshot of the mom and baby next to a box of diapers. It's hard to believe that I once envisioned if only for a moment, that motherhood could be summed up in that one picture. Or that things could be as simple as it made everything seemed.

Apparently, when life threw me curveballs, it reveled in hitting me in the face.

Amelia is probably half the size of every baby featured in the waiting room. On the wall, in magazines splayed out on the table in front of me, and in person. Another new mother is checking out, carrying a healthy-looking red-haired infant in her arms.

They are both grinning from ear to ear.

They are also thirty-two years old.

I turn back to Rebekah, who has begun to write her own information down. She exudes an aura of triumph. She won this verbal battle. I have nothing to say. Usually, Damon and I fight to get the last word. Elena and Caroline typically let me have the final say in our spats—I'm always right, after all. I guess I should just accept the stigma I've brought on myself. Why waste my breath?

Rebekah catches me staring and flashes a smile at me.

I open my mouth and close it again, floundering.

My name is called before I make an even bigger fool of myself.

I walk toward the nurse, clutching the clipboard so tightly the papers crinkle. I throw a glance behind my shoulder. Rebekah is waving at me, her bangles clinking together as she moves her hand. Her facial expression gives me a sense of discomfort that I try to push away as the door closes behind me.

_~~X~~_

This exam room is pink.

The walls are covered in the same damask pattern like the ones in the waiting room. The only difference is the color. It seems that whoever designed this room wanted to make it elegant. Right down to the basket of flowers on the side table.

Too bad it doesn't make me feel any better.

I throw my purse down next to me as I plop down on the cushy pink armchair. I want to avoid the exam table at all costs, though I know deep down that I won't be able to avoid any part of my check-up.

"Hello, Bonnie! It's been a while."

I nod sheepishly. "Hi, Dr. Cameron. Nice to see you again."

"How are you doing? How's Amelia? Damon?" she smiles at me warmly, encouraging me to share my feelings.

"Fine," I answer cautiously. "They are doing great."

"Are you practicing good self-care?"

"Yes."

"I would have liked you to come in three weeks after your Cesarean. I understand you had a lot going on, though. You just graduated, correct?"

I cast my eyes downward, unable to meet her gaze. I wonder how many patients she's had this exact conversation with. Probably not many. Contrary to stereotypes, my hometown doesn't really contribute to the rising rate of teenage pregnancy.

"Yes. I had to give a speech—so I was really busy after Amelia was born." Pathetic excuse, but it's all I could come up with.

"I know. I was at the graduation—my cousin was in your class. You know, I can't imagine many young women with your particular set of circumstances would be able to achieve what you did."

I look up. The look on her face tells me she means every word. "Thank you."

"Of course."

She instructs me to get changed into a gown and leaves the room for a few minutes. Memories of the appointment I made at Planned Parenthood come back to me. When I went into that room, I really thought that would be the end of it. I really underestimated what ten minutes could do to change a person's course in life. That had been the duration of the conversation I had with Damon.

When Dr. Cameron re-enters the room, I tense up.

She detects my nervousness and she emits sympathetic vibes even before she opens her mouth to speak.

"It will be over before you know it."

Her statement unsettles me.

She's right, though. I squeeze my eyes shut and the procedure is done in a matter of minutes. After the pelvic exam, she inspects the incision site on my abdomen. I haven't really looked it over since it healed enough that pain is no longer a constant issue. Damon checked it out a few times and assured me it looked fine. I'm not sure I trust his medical advice, but as long as I didn't have to acknowledge it, I let it be.

She offers me a hand, which I take gratefully. She helps me sit up. Smiling. I don't think she has displayed any other emotion besides happiness since I arrived.

"Everything looks good, Bonnie. You seem to have healed up nicely. You can resume your normal activities—driving, lifting above your head, light exercise, intercourse. I recommend you use condoms and another form of birth control, though. Even if your periods haven't become completely regular, it is better to be cautious."

"I agree," I reply quietly. As much as I would like to say I have not thought much about sex since the last time it happened, I would be lying through my teeth. Miserably.

She turns to her computer, types a few things down, and swivels back to face me. "Now, there are several options—"

"I'd like the shot."

Dr. Cameron looks taken aback. "That is a good choice. It comes with side effects, however. Irregular bleeding is the biggest one. There's mood swings, weight gain, and it's a bit more expensive than some other methods."

"I've researched it," I assure her. I don't think I would remember to take a pill every day at the same time and the IUD seems way too invasive for my liking. My uterus needs a break, at least that's what I tell myself.

"Okay, then. That's wonderful." She claps her hands together. "I just want to go over a little emotional checklist with you. Then you are good to go. I've sent your prescription over to the pharmacy."

The phrase _emotional checklist_ makes me wish I am back on the exam table.

"Now it's quite common to feel a bit sad, but if it's affecting your life drastically when there are things we can do to mitigate that."

"Oh—I'm fine. I'm just exhausted." The words spill out of my mouth before I even think about it.

The doctor and I volley a few more questions back and forth before she tells me I'm free to leave.

I exchange goodbyes with her, booking it as soon as she leaves the vicinity. I had opted to walk for obvious reasons—the main one being my desire to avoid a lecture from my parents and physician on driving before the restriction was lifted.

And it gives me time to think.

I decide it's time to begin a new resolve. No more constant worriment. Time to make an honest effort of enjoying the good moments. Things are going to be different, the changes will make my head spin, so I can’t take the good times for granted.

I can be like that—I hope.

I think this idea repeatedly. It has yet to work for me, but maybe it will this time. Even a broken clock is right twice a day.

I begin to relax as I stroll through town, hands in the back pockets of my shorts. The weather has been extremely nice as of late. And today is a milder summer afternoon. Not nearly as hot as it has been earlier in the week. There are a few wispy clouds in an otherwise clear sky. There are a few brown patches in the grass, but most of it remains green. The chalk drawings on the sidewalk alert me to the fact that children have been doodling here. Before I can stop myself, I imagine Damon and I taking an older Amelia to this exact spot, watching over her on a nearby bench while our daughter draws pictures of rainbows.

And I let those daydreams carry me home.


	8. Forever... (is a long time)

* * *

**~Chapter Seven~**

* * *

_I spent a long time  
Watering a plant made out of plastic  
And I curse the ground for growing green_

_~Halsey, Forever… (is a long time)~_

* * *

Sasha looks great.

More than great, actually. She is radiating pure joy.

This isn’t out of the ordinary for her, though. When she and Caroline get together, I know I’m in for an interesting day. They can talk for hours on end about fashion, makeup, and guys. They can also spend just as much time walking around the mall, usually leaving Elena and me in the dust.

Overall, I’d say she’s the embodiment of the person I used to strive to be—the perfect daughter, a shining representative of the Bennett family.

Currently, my cousin is perched on the edge of the couch, regaling my parents with the tales of her tour of Berkley, how she’s so excited to begin her classes, that she’s finally decided what her major will be: business, with a minor in computer science.

“… I’m ready for it,” she is saying, tone light and happy. “I can’t wait to start this new chapter of my life.”

I want to fade into the background, totally disappear, because I don’t need to look in my dad’s direction to know he’s jealous. I can just feel it, the atmosphere tinged with a slight discomfort that Sasha ignores. She flips her dark, curly hair over her shoulder and smiles.

See, Sasha has this aggravating personality quirk: she’s condescending, but she acts in such a way that you can’t figure out if she’s being like that deliberately or if it is innocent in nature.

“Did you hear back from Yale? You applied for early acceptance, right?”

 _Well, that took all of five minutes._ “I did… I got in.”

“Congratulations!” Uncle Marshall exclaims and I know he means it.

“Thank you,” I reply sheepishly, unsure of how to phrase the second part of my news.

“When do you move in?” Sasha asks in a clipped tone, clearly upset that my school update overshadowed hers.

 _She’s in for a shock…_ “I’m not.”

“Are you getting an off-campus apartment, then?” Aunt Bianca chimes in.

“Yes, but not in Connecticut.”

I read the room before I continue speaking. Everyone looks puzzled, confused as to where I’ll live in a totally different state, away from the home I’ve resided in since I was born. I can’t stay here and attend school there—it just isn’t realistic.

“You’re not?” Sasha says, trying to sound confused. She doesn’t pull it off, though. I can hear the underlying perkiness in her voice.

“No, I was awarded a full-ride scholarship—to Whitmore.”

My mother and father appear crestfallen, both unable to look, Marshall, Bianca, and Sasha straight-on.

Sasha is loving this, she’s sitting with her back straighter, chin tilted toward the ceiling. “That’s good, too.” But she can’t hide how underwhelmed she is by my dull choice of college.

“Why?” Aunt Bianca says bluntly.

I unsuccessfully gulp, hoping to squash the lump forming in my throat. It feels like it gets bigger instead of smaller. “It just wasn’t in the cards for me anymore.”

In the space of the second between the end of my answer and the beginning of the next question, I send a quick text to Damon.

_Please tell me you are on your way… and don’t say you are if you aren’t._

“Yeah, Bonnie, why?”

I’m beginning to get a headache—a throbbing one that runs from the top of my head to the base of my neck. “I didn’t want to.”

“I can understand that.” Uncle Marshall says kindly—he may have his younger sister’s tunnel vision, but he’s a lot more open to other ways of thinking than Abby is. “I know I was a back-and-forth about what I wanted when I was younger.”

“No, you weren’t,” Mom says with a roll of her eyes. “As soon as you went to that information night at school, you knew what you were going to do—and you were in tenth grade, then.”

My phone beeps.

As my mother and uncle bicker, I glance down at Damon’s response.

_You are so bossy._

Then:

_I will be gracing you with my presence in three… two… one…_

And then the doorbell interrupts whatever story Mom has started to tell to prove her version of events. You know, even though Marshall’s thought process is the only one that matters in this instance.

“I’ll get it,” I announce, though I think only my dad really listened to what I said.

He knows who it is, and it seems like he’s trying to dredge up whatever patience he has left to deal with the bombshell that will be dropped on the rest of the Bennett family when Damon Salvatore is introduced.

When I answer the door, Damon smiles widely, and the way his eyes glint mischievously makes me suspicious. He, too, promised that he’d make his debut as drama-free as is possible—which, according to Damon-logic, could be a variety of different levels… until I threatened to help in the kitchen the next time he wants to make pancakes.

“Maybe we should just go now,” I throw a glance over my shoulder. No one would even notice I slipped out.

He shakes his head. “They’re running some tests on Amelia, so, we won’t be able to see her right away.”

I flinch. “New ones?”

“No, the same ones they always do. The ones we’re always there for—they’re just doing them earlier than normal today. I think Dr. Wilson took a personal day or something.”

“Bonnie?” Mom calls out. “Bring Damon in before you go!”

I shoot him a nasty look. We were moments away from avoiding this situation, but, _no,_ he couldn’t wait to relay this information to me in the car.

“Everyone loves me, Bon Bon. It would be _wrong_ to deny your family the chance to meet me.”

“Not everybody loves you,” I retort, narrowing my eyes even more.

But he only smirks at me, not at all bothered by my comment. “Says the person who loves me the most.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I’m not… I’m just going by what you said last night.”

I elbow him in the ribs. _“Shut up! My dad can probably hear you!”_

“Hey, I’m just talking about the PG version…” he holds up his hands. “You’re the one who’s mind is in the gutter.”

“Damon… you’re clearly alluding to something else—anyone would be able to tell that from the way your voice sounds.”

“You really think anybody can hear me?”

_“Yes.”_

“Over all that bragging?” he counters, referring to Sasha, who has shifted the conversation away from Mom and Marshall and back to all of her educational accomplishments.

Right now, she’s discussing the fact that she was third in her class. I am smug when I hear Dad mention my academic standing. It’s immature and petty, but the way he says it makes me think that perhaps I haven’t lost all his pride… maybe he sees me as superior to Sasha in that respect, even after crushing his dreams.

I consider his point. “Maybe not.”

And so, I let Damon lead me back into the family room to face the music I thought I already dealt with. As it turns out, the apprehension of telling my extended family about the newest addition to our family is very similar to the kind I felt before Dad got ahold of my old ultrasound scan.

“Damon, this is my family,” I point out each person, give him their name, and relationship to me.

Sasha, ever the opportunist, gets up and crosses the room, eager to find out more about Damon. And probably, why he’s in my house, having a hushed argument with me in the hall. Her mannerisms remind me of that girl who flirted with him at the movie theater and Rebekah. I don’t like it, but I’m not at all surprised. She did the same thing when she met Matt back when we were thirteen.

“I’m Sasha,” she says with a flutter of her eyelashes.

“I know, Bonnie just told me.”

“Three seconds ago,” I mutter under my breath.

“… But it’s very nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too.” she holds her hand out. Damon shakes it, though definitely not for as long as my cousin would’ve liked.

“How do you know Bonnie?”

He wraps an arm around me and pulls me close. The only thing that stops him from being embarrassingly affectionate has nothing to do with the way I roll my eyes and suppress a smile—my father’s agitated expression holds more weight right now. “She’s my girlfriend.”

“Oh,” Sasha’s face falls immediately.

“Bonnie!” My aunt chirps excitedly. “Why didn’t you tell us you were dating someone?”

I shrug nonchalantly. “I figured I would wait until I could introduce you guys to him.”

“Well it’s nice to meet you, Damon,” Uncle Marshall says from his place on the armchair adjacent to the sofa. “You better be treating my niece like a princess.”

Dad’s grimace doesn’t fly under the radar.

“I know I don’t deserve her, but I wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt her.” I don’t know who he is really addressing—my father or uncle.

“Well…” I start awkwardly, “we will see you guys later… we have somewhere to be.”

“Where?” Sasha asks and I get the overwhelming sense that now is probably the best time to tell everyone about Amelia. Only, I feel strangely overprotective, almost like she’s too precious to be spoken about when Sasha’s around—I don’t want her to be used as leverage for future bragging.

But, thankfully, Damon is the one that takes over the Q and A session. “We are going to the hospital. The one outside of town, actually, and I don’t want to run into traffic. So, it was really nice meeting you all… again, and I’m sure I’ll see you again later on tonight.”

“Bye Damon,” Dad says more cheerfully than I expected. “Drive safe. And don’t let Bonnie Bear drive… you’ll never get there.”

The way he uses my familial nickname so easily cuts into me, leaving me feeling both hopeful and worried. _He’s probably just trying to keep appearances up,_ I think, reminding myself not to get carried away.

“Is everything okay?” Sasha sounds concerned (for Damon, I’m guessing).

“Ac—” Damon begins.

“Not really,” I interject, squeezing Damon’s hand. “I’ve gone through a lot of changes lately—that’s why I’m not going to Yale. I had to figure out what was best for me in the long run… and I can’t go to school out-of-state,” I take a deep breath. “I can’t be that far away from Amelia.”

“Amelia?” Sasha’s eyebrows furrow. She’s probably thinking about our great-grandmother, who died when we were babies.

“… not Gramma,” I say. “My—our—” I hold Damon’s arm up, “daughter. I had a baby. Right after Christmas. She was born early. Like three months early—that’s why my parents went to Dahlgren without me for New Year’s.”

(I probably would’ve tried to get out of it regardless, but there’s no need to be going into that line of reasoning).

Everyone in the room is shell shocked.

No one says a word. No one moves, so the room is filled with the sound of heavy breathing. I’m sure they’re waiting for someone to yell gotchya and burst into a fit of laughter. Something that won’t happen.

I pull up that one happy picture of us together to prove it.

My phone gets passed around until it ends up in Sasha’s hands. Her hazel eyes flit between me and the screen as if she can’t reconcile the fact that the girl standing next to her and the one in the photo is the same person.

“That’s why Mom and Dad acted so weird, then. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier… it’s been really up and down lately.”

“Damon’s leaving for basic training soon,” Mom says hastily. “It’s been a rollercoaster kind of year.”

Uncle Marshall’s eyebrows quirk up. “What branch?”

“Army.”

“Well, have to talk more when you get back.”

If Damon’s surprised by my uncle’s statement, no one would be the wiser. “Sounds like a plan.”

Once we are outside, Damon takes his sunglasses out and slides them over his eyes.

“Are you trying to act cool?” I tease, secretly hoping he doesn’t want to talk about Sasha or anyone else lounging in the living room.

“I don’t have to _try to act cool;_ I just am. And no, I’m actually using these for their actual purpose, so there.” He sticks his tongue out, ruffling my hair.

“Wow, I’m shocked.”

“I’m ignoring that,” Damon says, unlocking the car door manually, climbing inside. He acts as if I’m not outside, turning on the radio and looking everywhere but in my direction.

I pull on the door handle, thinking he would let me in if he thought I would end up doing damage to it. “Open the door, Damon!”

He smirks and reaches over to roll the window down. “Can I help you?”

“You can unlock my door.”

“But… you were questioning my level of coolness.”

“I don’t see how that has to do with this.” I squint, leaning forward so I could look him straight in the eyes without the sun’s interference. “But since you’re so butthurt over it, I’ll bite—you’re cool. So cool, in fact, that I can hardly stand to be around you.”

“That sounds pretty backhanded,” he remarks, feigning offense.

“I meant it when I said I loved you,” I offer, smiling and batting my eyelashes the same way he always does.

“Which time?”

I roll my eyes. “All of them.”

He glances at the clock on the dash. “Okay, I’ll accept your apology. It was very big of you to admit you were wrong.”

“Didn’t say that…” I say as I sit down, pulling my seatbelt over my chest.

“Doesn’t matter,” Damon says. “It’s what I heard.”

“You have issues,” I mutter, rubbing my temples in a futile attempt to get rid of the tension headache that crept up on me while I listened to another episode of the Bennett family’s catch-up session.

“Yeah, but you like them…” he peeks at me out of the corner of his eye. “I didn’t piss you off _that_ much, did I?”

“Of course not; I’m immune to your nonsense by now. It’s… my family. Not all of them—just my parents and Sasha. I don’t know what to think about them.”

“Sasha reminds me of you a little,” he comments nonchalantly.

_“Thanks.”_

He sighs. “Not in a bad way. I don’t know her all that well. Don’t worry, you’re still the queen of being anal-retentive and judgmental. But she seems very… driven, I guess.”

“She is,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.

“And… I thought you said your mom’s brother is just as into competition as she is.”

“I guess I overstated it—Uncle Marshall just goes along with it… he doesn’t add to it, but he doesn’t stop it either. Sasha didn’t use to be like Mom either—we used to get along well—but I think my parent’s constant bragging about what a good kid I was got under her skin. Uncle Marshall was away a lot… and they moved a bunch… I don’t know, so, I guess I was her only constant companion…”

“She’s your Stefan,” he summarizes.

When my only response is to stare at him blankly, he elaborates:

“Stefan took my mother away from me… when we were younger, that’s how it felt. So, everything I did started to be about one-upping him. Which, I couldn’t—still can’t.”

I want to tell him it’s a little different than that, but I can’t—he makes a point. “You and Stefan seem to be doing better now.”

“Yeah, but my dad is always reminding me which of his sons is less of a fuck-up. Hint: it’s not me.”

“You’re not a fuck-up.”

“And neither are you.”

“… Has your dad talked about seeing Amelia again?” I’m almost afraid I shouldn’t have asked. I observe the way Damon’s posture tenses up, the way he grimaces before speaking, in a low, frustrated tone.

“Yes, but it’s not a good idea, Bennett. He’s a lot meaner than your mom—you can tell Abby really cares. Giuseppe has an agenda.”

“… are you sure he has an ulterior motive?”

He chuckles darkly. “He’s never _not_ had one.”

“Well, if you’re not comfortable with it, I’m not either.”

“Thanks, Bennett.”

“You’re welcome, Salvatore.”

* * *

When we get back home, I head straight for my bedroom.

Damon went back to his place to gather what he needs to have to spend the night at the hospital. One of the first things Lucille told us when we came in was that we were on the schedule (after she informed us that Amelia was done with having her blood drawn).

I was prepared for it—I’ve gotten into the habit of always having an overnight bag packed, but Damon never seems to do the same.

Smiling to myself, I push my bedroom door open, only for it to fall away when I see Sasha sitting on my bed.

Her legs are crossed, a magazine open in her lap. She turns the page before glancing up at me. “Oh, hi Bon.”

“Hi…” my eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Why are you in my room?”

Sasha stretches out, tucking her hands behind her head, leaning against the headboard. “I’m not really sure.”

“Well, you can have it for the night.” I’m not too keen on it, but I am less keen on arguing about where she will be staying. I’m not up for the fight. “I won’t be here.”

“Where will you be?”

“Doesn’t it go without saying?” I take my bag out of the closet, checking its contents to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything.

She doesn’t say anything for what feels like a very long time. And then, in a small voice, “with Damon?”

“Yeah.”

“How’d you two get together?”

“It’s not like you actually care,” I remark, refusing to look her way. “Why bother trying to keep up the pretense?”

“I do care,” she insists.

“Why?” I zip my bag closed and hike it over my shoulder.

“You’re my cousin,” she says this the same way Care does whenever she thinks I should know something already—usually fashion-related.

“And we’ve been trying to outdo one another since middle school.”

“I know.”

The room falls silent again. I throw a glance in her direction. Sasha’s staring at her feet pensively. I can’t quite read her facial expression—it’s almost blank. That’s another Bennett quality—aloofness in the face of discomfort.

“… I don’t even remember when it became a serious competition—between us, I mean.”

At the sound of my voice, she startled out of her daze. “Me either. You were just so perfect… I felt like we never stayed in one place long enough to…” she trails off with a shrug. “…I’m sorry… about the baby.”

“Thanks.” The strap of my duffle bag slides down my arm.

“How’d you deal with it?”

“What’s ‘it’?”

“The patented Bennett look of disappointment.”

I snort and choke back a rueful laugh. Now _that’s_ a loaded question. “I haven’t.”

“But… you didn’t seem like you cared earlier.”

“I do.”

“Well, you fooled me…”

“That makes one person then,” I say, voice barely above a whisper.

“So, seriously—tell me how you ended up dating one of the hottest guys in the state?”

 _Well, might as well be honest about that, too._ “He knocked me up.”

Sasha startles, shaking her head. “I mean, how did you find the time to date with all the schoolwork and extra-curricular?”

I narrow my eyes. My cousin sounds serious, her tone pleading. I have no idea why she would suddenly start caring about my personal life, but there _has_ to be a logical explanation.

“Why do you want to know?”

Her earnest expression falters, sighing as her gaze wanders around the room before landing on me. I drop into my swivel chair—a nonverbal cue that I won’t answer her without a good reason.

“I missed out on that part of high school,” she says. “I was so busy trying to keep my grades up… and, well, I was just getting used to being in the same school for three years straight that I guess I never realized I _could_ do that.”

I’m definitely at a loss for words. I guess that talk I had with Damon in the car was one of merit. “We weren’t really dating… we were more like… temporary friends.”

She raises an eyebrow, motioning for me to go on.

I cross and then uncross my legs nervously. “We didn’t get along at first. But we spent some time together and well… uh… that was supposed to be the extent of it. And then I found out that I was pregnant.”

“So that’s why you got together?”

“Um no,” I try to figure out why I’m being so honest with Sasha right now. All I know is that it feels good to get this story off my chest, that this is the first time I’ve been so candid about Amelia and Damon to anyone other than my friends, which… wasn’t really all that candid to be totally honest. “He started dating this girl—Rebekah—when school started. I didn’t know about the baby then…”

“Oh!” she leans forward, regarding me like I’m an actress in some cheesy soap opera.

I pause, glaring at her. “If any of this information leaves my room…”

“It won’t,” Sasha says solemnly.

“… I actually dated someone else for a month or so. His name was Enzo…”

“You have a fanbase?”

I snort. “Hardly— _Caroline_ and _Elena_ have fanbases. Enzo, I thought we were a good couple, but he’s actually a bigger jerk than Damon. But… I never _truly_ felt like myself around him. I thought I did, but I was wrong. Anyway… long story short, we started a romantic relationship, shit hit the fan, and here we are.” I throw my hands up.

_That’s it. The end. The girl got the guy, but they didn’t exactly the happily ever after they signed up for._

“Uncle Rudy told us you had the flu when they visited over the New Year.”

“Nope—the exact opposite.”

She looks me over. “You don’t _look_ like you had a baby five months ago.”

“Thank you—I think.”

“I just never would’ve thought that _you_ would be the one to…”

“Mess up so badly? Me either. And I’m still paying for it.”

And then comes the biggest question Sasha has asked thus far. “… Do you regret it?”

“Not for a second,” I respond automatically.

“But if you’re still in hot water, why wouldn’t you?”

“Because…” I seriously think about the best way to explain myself. “Mom and Dad… they weren’t there for me. They’ve never really been there. Grams was. I’ve done my own thing since she died. Except, it wasn’t really _my thing_ —It was Abby and Rudy’s plan. And… when it came down to it, I couldn’t bring myself to let her go… I mean, I knew they’d never feel any differently about her and I’d be incredibly idiotic if I based the biggest decision of my life on what everyone else wanted. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to deal with… but I wouldn’t change a thing.”


	9. Winter Memories and Summer Moments

* * *

**~Chapter Nine~**

* * *

_It's so cold, baby, it’s dark outside  
Winter comes creeping in through the night  
And it’s hard when I just want to hold you tight  
Breaks my heart but nothing can break this ice_

_~Birdy, Winter~_

* * *

_I felt dead inside._

_For the past few days, I was struggling to put a name to my state of mind. Depressed, scared, tired, worried—they all fit the bill, but I wasn’t_ just one _of those things._

_I had the misfortune of being all of them._

_And I wished someone in my life could truly empathize with what I was going through. There was Damon, of course, who had hardly left my side since they discharged me from the hospital, but_ he _didn’t have to wonder what he did wrong. He kept saying that I didn’t need to apologize, that this wasn’t my fault, but I didn’t believe him. Not really._

_The first couple of nights home were hard for both of us. It was almost impossible for us to leave Amelia when visiting hours ended and falling asleep to whatever movie we watched wasn’t as comforting as it had been before._

_Mostly because the dreams that came when I closed my eyes were the worst ones I’ve ever had._

_I had grown accustomed to having Damon with me all day long, but he was back at school today (and had been for a couple of days now). So, I was left to my own devices. I wondered how his day was going. Was he doing well? Did returning to some form of normalcy make things easier on him?_

_If he felt like this—like he hit rock-bottom—would he say anything?_

_There was a light knock on my door, a quiet rapping noise that kept going, even after it became clear I would not respond._

_Not that it mattered, Mom and Dad were coming in whether I gave them the okay or not._

_It was going to be a busy few days for them. So, I assumed they were here for their normal pre-trip meeting with me._

_They were going to Dahlgren—the naval base my Uncle Marshall was living on. For an extended New Year’s celebration with the Bennett clan. Before this, I was supposed to go with them. “This” being my pregnancy. Dad was skittish whenever Mom brought up how we were going to have to address it when the holiday rolled around. He was dreading it; Mom was, too. The competition they started—and were constantly winning—was no longer an easy victory._

_However, seeing as I was still recovering from major abdominal surgery, an hours-long car ride didn’t seem like a good idea. Especially with Dad at the wheel. And I couldn’t be that far away from Amelia. Me not getting to bring her home with me was agonizing enough. If I had to miss out on visiting her to listen to my cousin brag, I might completely lose my shit._

_Of course, I felt uncomfortable telling Dad this. He left the room whenever Damon and I were talking about our daughter. That killed me, too, but I didn’t think there was any way to fix that problem._

_At least not without serious soul-searching on his part._

_Needless to say, when I cited, “copious amounts of vaginal bleeding,” as my excuse for staying put, I’d never seen him look more relieved._

_As I expected, my mother and father waltzed into my bedroom, fake, uneasy smiles plastered on their faces._

_Dad stood at the foot of my bed while Mom sat on the edge of my mattress. I kept my gaze focused on the ceiling; arms wrapped around my pillow. I wished I could curl into a ball, but that kind of movement would cause more harm than good._

_Because of stitches and staples._

_“We’re getting ready to leave, sweetie.” Mom reached out and brushed a lock of hair off my forehead._

_I did my best to not recoil at her touch._

_“You’re sure you don’t want to let Damon deal with all the hospital stuff?”_

That _made me bristle. I looked at my dad, who didn’t really want me to say yes, disheartened that he took his passive-aggressive comments that far over the line. “I’m fine here.”_

_“We’ll tell everyone that you miss them,” Mom assured me_

_I nodded, uncertain by how I felt about her words. “Thanks…”_

_She leaned over and gave me a peck on the forehead. “Of course, Bonnie Bear.”_

_Then, they gave me the typical rundown—pizza money is on the counter, call Phyllis in case of an emergency, our phones will be on 24/7 if you need us (blah, blah, blah). To get them to leave faster, I made noncommittal comments after every pause in the conversation._

_“I remember Mom, don’t worry. I’ll be okay.” I lied._

_“I know,” she said._

_Did she, though?_

_I was discreet as I studied her facial expression. A warm smile, perfectly curled hair, green eyes surrounded by thick, mascara-coated lashes. It was easy to see that she was excited about seeing her brother. I wasn’t able to figure out if she was worried about leaving her seventeen-year-old daughter, who had just given birth to a baby (who she couldn’t take care of), alone._

_But I knew it didn’t matter if she was. All things considered; this was the easiest way to break the news to my extended family—for all of us. I wouldn’t be present to witness Sasha’s smug reaction or the brunt of my parent’s shame. My dad wouldn’t have to look at me, and Mom could easily divert any questions they had back to her niece._

_Which, if you accounted for subtext, really meant that they could act like they didn’t have a granddaughter—or daughter, for that matter._

_~~X~~_

After Sasha processes what I’ve told her, I realize I had been totally right about my assumption months ago. In more ways than one. I had been aware that they kept quiet about Amelia, but I didn’t quite understand the level at which Abby and Rudy tried to write me off.

Or maybe I just didn’t know hearing someone say it aloud would hurt that much.

 _Yeah,_ a little voice in the back of my head says, _it’s the second one._

When my mother told me that our extended family was going to be visiting, I had paid little attention to her announcement. Sasha and I don’t pretend to get along, so there wasn’t any need to act otherwise. My interest had been mildly piqued when I was informed that Emily and Lucy were coming as well.

Mom doesn’t make as much of an effort to invite them to get-togethers… hasn’t since Grams died. It makes me wonder if I’m missing an important anniversary of something-or-other, but my mind comes up blank when I try to come up with an answer.

I guess now is a good time to get one, though. “You guys didn’t come all the way here to catch up with me.”

Sasha looks away from me, suddenly very interested in the pictures sitting atop my dresser. “No, but I don’t exactly know why. Well… I do, but I’m not supposed to.”

“I’m lost,” I say tiredly. “I just want to know what’s going on. My parents are way less communicative than yours.”

“Valid point. Okay… it’s supposed to be a graduation party.”

“A graduation party,” I feel dumb. Graduation was in May, and we already had a celebratory dinner sans Mr. Salvatore to commemorate the night. Why would anyone throw me a party now? Especially because Abby and Rudy don’t exactly think I _deserve_ a party. They didn’t get anything for Amelia, and I don’t expect any different for me.

“Yeah,” she still doesn’t meet my eyes. “For both of us… it was my mom’s idea. I heard her and Aunt Abby talking about it last week when she called the house.”

 _That makes more sense._ “And my mom agreed to it?”

“Not at first,” Sasha admits. “But my mom kept asking why she was so against it, and she finally caved and said yes. She also said you weren’t up to making the trip to Dahlgren yet and that we’d all have to come to Mystic Falls. We didn’t understand at first… Uncle Rudy said you were back to normal… but it’s obvious now that he wasn’t talking about the flu.”

“Yeah,” I murmur, not knowing what else to say.

I guess I should be happy that my parents relented to Aunt Bianca’s suggestion in the first place, be glad that they’re easing up a bit, but I can’t muster up any emotion. All that I can think is how they didn’t really _want_ to celebrate me, that they had to be coerced into it, and I am slowly realizing that the lines between all of my different problems are bleeding together. The sinking feeling of dread is spreading, and I don’t know why even the smallest of things feel like a soul-crushing event.

“We didn’t expect _this,_ though. I mean… you’re… _you.”_

I may have laughed at Sasha’s awkwardness if she was referencing anything else. “… well, you can relax now. You’re clearly the favorite Bennett, and I’ve fucked up any chance of being the family prodigy.”

“Bonnie…” she starts, and the way she says my name reminds me of when Mom told me everyone would visit us—two days ago.

_“Bonnie… are you in here? Can we talk about something? Your cousin is going to be spending the weekend with us. Isn’t that nice?”_

_“What weekend?” was my reply_

_“This one! It’ll be fun… you’ll see… I could use your help making dessert; do you know where your grandmother’s cookie recipe is?”_

“The party isn’t _just_ about me. You graduated, too. Believe me, I would’ve _loved_ to have one to myself, but that’s not how Grams would’ve wanted it.”

I chew on my bottom lip, thinking it over. Grams was always fair—nobody got more than someone else on their birthday, not on holidays or when it came to doing well in school. She spread her love to all of her children and grandchildren evenly. Even so, I have this long-held belief that she and I had a special bond. A deep understanding that only existed between us _._

What would her honest reaction be?

I’ve tried not to think too hard about it, but sometimes it’s difficult to ignore. I’ve silently begged for some sign that it would be okay, rhetorically asked her what to do, but never dared to imagine how she would feel deep down.

I nod slowly. “… Thanks, Sasha. That means a lot.”

“I know. Just act surprised when you come back from the hospital. If they figure out I told you, then I _will_ get you back.”

“Noted.”

* * *

My cousin didn’t have to worry about me slipping up. By the time I stumble through the front door the next morning, I have completely forgotten about the real reason behind this last-minute family reunion.

Sweet dreams evaded me last night, which left me with very little sleep or ability to function without _at least_ three cups of coffee (the extra caffeinated kind). The entire ordeal is made worse because I can’t remember what my nightmares were about. I just recall lots of screams, some of which were real, and woke Damon up. Deep down, I know that they were of the typical variety and it’s making me jumpy.

I don’t notice the festive scene outside until I’ve downed one mug of coffee and am halfway through pouring a second one. The liquid burns my tongue and throat as I chug it, grateful for any pain that isn’t emotionally driven. I nearly choke on it when I look through the sliding glass door.

Several collapsible tables are set up throughout the backyard. There are a few clusters of metal chairs scattered across the grass. There is a cooler filled to the brim with ice and cans of beer and soda. My Uncle Marshall is standing in front of my dad’s cherry-red grill—the one that never gets used, even during this time of the year. I see a smaller patio table with a bunch of food atop it and a small kiddie pool Mom must have picked up for Emily’s sons.

Sure enough, Caden is splashing around while his twin brother, Max, searches for water toys.

I remember when Emily announced she was pregnant.

We were opening presents on Christmas Day when she passed an envelope to Aunt Calla and Grams. Inside was a cutesy postcard that said something to the effect of _Bennett babies arriving this June!_ It was nice—everyone was overjoyed—but I recall feeling rather neutral about it. I was happy for Emily and her husband, but I wasn’t nearly as excited as Grams and my aunt had been.

Babies are cute—Caden and Max ridiculously so—but they just celebrated their fifth birthday. I was only fourteen when they were born; I did not know what was going to happen a few short years later…

“Okay, you’re officially a zombie,” I hear Damon saying. “You just stood there while I took a picture of coffee coming out of your nose.”

“What?” I snap, focusing on the sticky mess dripping down my tank top. “Delete that or die, Salvatore!”

He chuckles lightly. “I’ll take my chances. You aren’t fast enough to catch me if I run.”

“I know where you live,” I reply menacingly.

“Remind me not to tell you where I get stationed.”

He hands me a napkin as I glower, snatching it from him with more anger than is warranted. “Thanks.”

“So… are you going to go out there looking like death warmed over? This is _your_ party, you know.”

_“You knew about this?”_

“Your mom _may_ have mentioned something about it to me.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” I shriek, though part of me knows I shouldn’t be reacting so intensely. Sasha _did_ say something to me, after all. I just forgot about it. But Damon? He _knew, and_ he didn’t give me a heads up!

“You deserve a pleasant surprise,” he explains. “We’ve had enough shitty ones for a lifetime.”

“I won’t argue with that,” I concede, wiping the huge brown splotch on my chest.

 _“There is a God!_ It’s a miracle—finally something you can’t bitch about!”

I frown, gaze flitting back to the twins. They are both in the tiny basin now, giggling as they dump buckets of water on each other’s heads. For a split second, I don’t acknowledge Damon. I barely even register the sound of his voice—I only put his words together after I give them a moment to sink in.

When I reply, my voice is weak. “Oh, I can find plenty to bitch about.”

“I’m aware.”

“Everyone came… even Lucy.”

Lucy is Emily’s younger sister. I have envied her for years now, if only because she is so far removed from the rivalry between us. Emily—being the oldest—wasn’t often compared to me or Sasha. But Lucy? She was just young enough to fall into Abby and Bianca’s orbit. They were always encouraging us to follow in Lucy’s footsteps (she was student body president in high school, after all) but we had spoken little since she moved to California.

She rarely travels back to the east coast, opting to spend holidays with her girlfriend, Jessica, instead.

“Well, you _were_ valedictorian,” Damon points out, nudging me playfully. “It’s _kind of_ a big deal.”

I sigh, “not to the hosts.”

“Well, _I_ think it’s important.”

“That makes one person.”

“Stop being such a Negative Nancy. Someone might mistake you for Stefan.”

“Stefan is realistic—” I begin, but he cuts me off.

“Will you hurry up and get changed? I want to meet the rest of my in-laws.”

“One, they _aren’t your in-laws._ We aren’t married—nobody has a familial obligation to be nice to you. And even if we were, I don’t think they’d like you. They frown upon shotgun weddings.”

“Puh-lease—like I’d marry you. It’s not like you’re the mother of my child or anything. Oh, and you would be _way too_ into the whole ‘nagging wife’ schtick.”

I elbow him in the stomach and toss the paper towel in the trashcan. “Your support means so much,” I quip snidely, irrationally hurt by his comment.

“You’re welcome,” he says with a grin.

When I don’t smile in return, his cocky expression falters.

“Bon Bon, are you alright?”

“Just tired…”

“Okay,” I don’t think he believes me.

I head back into the foyer. Do I have a party dress? Could I _fit_ into one? I wrack my brain, trying to remember what I have hanging in the closet. I’m halfway up the stairs when Damon calls to me.

“Bonster?”

I pause. “Yes?”

“For the record, I’d be insanely lucky if you lost your mind and decided to spend the rest of your life with me.”

 _This_ brings me a genuine sense of elation. Deep down, I know he was just teasing me, but I’m too tired to look for a double-meaning in anything—it has taken all my leftover energy to climb the steps, I don’t have extra to expend.

“Ditto.”

_~~X~~_

My presence goes unnoticed for the first ten minutes I am standing in the backyard.

I’m not mad about it—I avoided coming out via the back door for that reason. I can’t muster up enough enthusiasm to feign surprise and happiness in front of that many people all at once, which is what I would’ve had to do if I opened the sliding glass door and stepped onto the deck. Uncle Marshall is currently putting hamburger patties onto a plate. There’s no way I could have snuck by him.

I hang off to the side, searching for Damon amongst the various clusters of family members. I’m not sure who I expected to find him with—Sasha or Uncle Marshall, probably—but he isn’t anywhere near them. Instead, I catch sight of him near the center of the yard, the sun shining down on him like a spotlight.

Right next to Caden and Max.

A sharp pang runs through my stomach. I feel jealous for a few seconds. Both preschoolers look like they are having a blast, spraying him with water, coming from what appears to be a toy whale. My heart drops to my feet. Damon _swears_ up and down that he took great pleasure in tormenting Stefan when they were little, claims that he didn’t have a nurturing bone in his body until Amelia was born. And any mushy displays of human emotion are strictly because of her.

I know that isn’t entirely true; I _constantly_ refute that statement every time it leaves his mouth, but I can’t help but feel a little envious of him now. This all comes so _naturally_ to him—so much so that nobody really believes it (even if they see it for themselves). Why can’t I act as he does? Why do I feel like the world will implode when I come within a certain distance to the hospital?

Damon must feel my eyes on him because he looks up and smiles at me. Then he shouts, “look, guys! There’s cousin Bonnie!”

Two sets of chubby legs run over to me, green eyes bright, and cheeks dimpled. It’s weird—I didn’t think they’d remember me. They only see me a few times a year and I’m not someone they like to play with. And if they truly know who I am, then why are they so excited to see me? Abby is the one that hands them all of their birthday and Christmas gifts. Shouldn’t they be rushing to Mom instead?

I don’t have time to make sense of it, though. Caden and Max barrel into me. I subsequently tumble backward, landing on my butt, dangerously close to the tree that I’d taken refuge under. My elbows just barely miss scraping against the bark, though I’m more concerned about the boys. They could’ve hurt themselves… the last thing I need is for someone else’s kid to be injured under my supervision. I know I’m not up for any parenting awards, but I really don’t want to lose any points before I can actually take my daughter home.

 _If,_ an ominous voice in the back of my mind chides.

My jaw clenches as I brace myself for an onslaught of kisses and hugs. “Cousin Damon is so cool,” they chant, and Max—or maybe it’s Caden—plants a kiss on my eye.

They pronounce it, “ _kewl_.”

I wipe the saliva off my face, giving them a once-over. Neither boy seems to have any bumps, bruises, cuts, or scrapes. I breathe a sigh of relief as Damon approaches, laughing at us obnoxiously.

“You okay, guys?”

“Yes,” the first twin says, turning to me. “Can Damon stay forever?”

“Yeah,” the second twin says. “We like him. He does a great T-Rex impression.”

My boyfriend demonstrates his newfound talent by bending his arms, pulling them close to his chest, and roaring as loud as he possibly can.

I shake my head, chuckling quietly. _Damn him and his charisma!_ “I’ll think about it…” I trail off, unsure of whether or not I should tack a name on to the end of my sentence.

I know one of them has a birthmark on their arm, but I can’t remember the name of that twin. All I know is the boy talking to me doesn’t have a birthmark.

“Max,” Damon fills in.

I glower at him. _How does_ he _know that?_

“They were kind enough to introduce themselves,” he explains.

I nod slowly. “Look at you, remembering stuff.”

“It’s a talent.”

Max grabs onto my shoulders and shakes me. “Cousin Sasha says he’s your _boyfriend!_ Does that mean your gonna marry him?”

The way he draws out _boy_ is sort of cute. “No, well… um, I’m a little too young for that, guys.”

“But your old—aren’t you twelve?” I can’t believe I’m being interrogated by people who wear diapers at night.

“She’s older than that,” Damon stage-whispers.

Caden’s eyes widen. “Are you _thirteen?”_

I don’t have a chance to answer. Emily is coming over to us, an amused smile on her face. “Max… Caden… what have I told you about jumping on people?”

“Not to,” Caden says glumly.

“So why did you?”

“We were trying to thank Bonnie for letting Damon come over.”

My cousin scoops up the boy closest to her and Max stands up and looks at me apologetically. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I assure him, pretending to brush the dirt off my dress. “I’m not hurt.”

“You guys should tell the stork to bring you a baby,” Max declares, wriggling out of Emily’s arms. “My friend Noelle… she goes to my preschool… told me that her daddy asked the stork if he would give him a magic potion to put a baby in her mommy’s belly and he _did!”_

“Max, Noelle got a time out for telling us. She said it’s inappropriate, remember?”

Max looks at his brother and laughs. “No!”

Emily admonishes the boys before telling them to go look for Aunt Abby.

“Bye Bonnie,” they trill. “Don’t come to our house if you don’t bring Damon!”

My mouth goes dry as I struggle to get to my feet. Damon pulls me up, wrapping an arm around my waist to steady me. I won’t admit it, but that fall made my stomach hurt. The bumpy raised scar on my abdomen burns and I wonder if that caused any lasting damage.

“I’m sorry, Bon. They aren’t usually that blunt, I swear.”

“I’m not upset… don’t worry about it,” I wave my hand dismissively.

“Aunt Abby told me you had a baby,” Emily says, a knowing glint in her eyes.

I always admired Emily’s ability to somehow know what’s going on without being told directly. It saves us from a lot of awkward conversations that way. I’m even glad she came right out with it. Emily isn’t as… abrasive as Sasha.

“Sometimes the stork comes when you don’t want him to,” I joke halfheartedly.

“Well, we’ll need to talk later, maybe when she’s home we could come over to see you—the boys would love to see her.”

“Okay.”

“Great! I’m sorry to cut this short, but I have to go save your mom from the world’s youngest pro-wrestlers,” she turns on her heel, stops, and looks back at me. “Oh… and Bon?” she says.

“Yeah?”

“Congratulations—on both fronts. You’ll be an amazing mom!”


End file.
